The Rose and the Thorn
by depplosion
Summary: Yep, this is the Edward ScissorhandsBeetlejuice crossover fic that had so many lovely reviews. I'm aggravated because had to repost everything cuz my account got closed. Hope everyone can find me! UPDATED!
1. On the Road Again

Disclaimer: I don't own dear Edward or Lydia or any of the characters, but I own the story and the idea to combine Beetlejuice and Edward Scissorhands. All praise be to me. Have fun. Feed back is most welcome, nay, desired.

On the road again. It seemed to Lydia that ever since her father had married that psychotic spaz of a women who called herself an artist they couldn't stay put anywhere for longer than a year. Its not that she minded leaving Miss Shannon's School for Girls. Sure, there had been a couple of people there whom she may have considered friends, but not really. More like...acquaintances. It wasn't that she hated to leave that humungous house up on the hill, either. What really bothered her was leaving Adam and Barbara. They were the only true friends she'd ever had in her seventeen years of life, and now she was leaving them. And it's not like she would be able to call, write, or visit them; they were dead. They were ghosts trapped in their house, unable to leave for another century or so, and this concept really bothered Lydia. It bothered her so much she wished that she could just die, but she didn't. Adam and Barbara had convinced her that no matter how much she wanted to be with them, to exist on the same plane as them, suicide was not the answer. She stayed alive for them, so they wouldn't be angry with her, so she wouldn't disappoint them. Their opinion mattered more to her than anyone else's. They mattered more, but now she could never see them again.  
"You're really gonna love this house, honey. Its right up your alley!" her father said, shifting his eyes from the road to his daughter's reflection in the rear-view mirror.  
I highly doubt that, thought the raven-haired teenager pouting under her huge black thrift-store hat. Her dad was a good guy, but he was rather out of touch with his morbid, death-obsessed daughter, and though he often thought he knew what she fancied, he really had no idea. How could he?  
"I know I love it," Delia piped up from the passenger seat where she sat filing her glossy red talons. "Very artistic. Very classical"  
"I thought you were all about the modern crap, Delia," Lydia scoffed, her gaze never shifting from the window, out of which she could see nothing but a blur of dark shapes that presented themselves as pine trees when the pace of the vehicle slowed.  
"Lydia, I know you're upset about leaving. I know you're upset with me for accepting this job, but there's no reason for you to take it out on your mother"  
"Step-mother," Lydia near growled through clenched teeth.  
Thus was the extent of Lydia's interaction with her family the entire rest of the way to their new house. Lydia had never seen it before, but if her father thought she would like it, and if Delia liked it, it was pretty much guaranteed that she herself would despise it. But there was nothing to be done but come along quietly and mope, her sullen face hidden beneath the wide brim of her black hat. She felt dead inside without her two friends, and she was in mourning for the life she left behind, with them, in that dusty old attic.

Edward gazed out a broken window facing the peaceful little pastel perfect neighbourhood below and sighed quietly. Every night he wondered if she would return, if he would catch a glimpse of her in her pretty white dress walking down the road toward the mansion on the hill, a glowing star in an otherwise dark sky. Every night he hoped it would be the last one he would have to spend alone. Every night said hope was crushed beneath a cold and uncompassionate black sky, and Edward would fall asleep with an ache in his heart and a dream in his head, always of her. Little did he know that today would be different. Today he would meet someone who also suffered from a terrible case of loneliness. Someone who would understand and not fear him. Someone who would put an end to the crushing of his hopes for companionship.

"Almost there," sang Charles from the driver's seat. Lydia looked up from under the wide brim of her hat and was horrified at what she saw. Houses. No, these things couldn't be classified as houses. Pink, blue, green, pastel monstrosities whizzed by in a nauseating blur of cheerful colour as the car drove deeper into the suburb. There is no way in Hell I am living here, Lydia thought, her harsh feelings toward her father and step-mother growing as hot as the afternoon sun that beat down on the pavement. First chance I get I am going to hang myself by the rope they're dragging me along with.  
"Kill me now," Lydia sighed audibly, burying her face in her hands.  
"Now, calm down honey. We're not living in any of these houses"  
There -is- a God!  
"We're not?" Lydia couldn't contain the pleasant surprise in her voice as she pleaded for it to be true.  
"No," Charles chuckled. " No...look ahead of us. See that? Up on that big hill"  
Lydia craned her neck between the two seats in front and squinted her black eyes. When she caught sight of her target, her eyes widened to twice their usual size.  
"There?" She breathed hoarsely. Her throat was suddenly dry with anticipation. "That's...that's our new house"  
"Yep! I told you you'd like it." Charles beamed and turned to Delia, who looked up from her magazine just long enough to flash her husband a sickly sweet smile clad in bright red lipstick.  
Lydia stared ahead in awe. She brought her Polaroid camera up to her face and snapped a picture, suddenly feeling very glad that she'd brought so much film. Her neck ached, but as they got closer and closer to the patch of darkness bordering the happy little hellhole they were driving through, she could not bring herself to move a muscle. Their future abode looked like a castle from a fairy tale gone awry. The wooden shutters trimmed with black iron were swinging crookedly on their hinges. Many of the shingles covering the roof were missing, as if the house had at one time withstood the wrath of a mighty storm. Twisted figures of gargoyles, vultures and other foul creatures peaked out from behind towers and ledges as if on guard for trespassers.  
The house itself was surrounded by a thick wood of thorns and bramble, through which a narrow, scarce-used path was carved. As the car wove its way up the path and nearer to the house, Lydia's excitement grew, and her negative feelings of a mere few minutes before vanished behind her with the bright Barbie-esque houses. She couldn't wait to explore this place.  
Finally, they reached the front gate. Though rusty and bent at odd angles, Lydia thought it beautiful. She pressed the button and her camera flashed again.  
"Here we are!" Charles exclaimed suddenly as he killed the engine, startling Lydia out of her new found heaven. "We'll have to cut away these vines so the car can get through. I'd like to add on a garage, maybe over on the right side next to that arch over there..."he rambled on about renovations as the three got out of the car and approached the house.  
Pushing back the vines her father intended on cutting away, Lydia could see that the area in front of the house had the appearance of a courtyard, with flower gardens, topiaries, and a gravel circle surrounding a giant hand-shaped bush. Lydia smiled up at the hand and photographed it. It was almost as if it were raised in a greeting. She was in love with this place already.  
As she continued to snap photos of the yard, of the bush shaped like a squirrel, a sea serpent, a moose, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She immediately moved her gaze and her camera up to a window on the third floor and pressed the button. But the window was empty, save a few broken shards of glass glinting in the sunlight, jutting out of the rotting windowpane like jagged teeth in the mouth of a monster. Still, she could have sworn she'd caught a glimpse of something white and a flash of metal, but these disappeared into the blackness just as her eyes had hit home.  
Lydia removed the blank photo card from her camera and shook it to make it develop faster. When it was finished, it showed the window and the shining glass, just as she'd seen it, but also what looked like a white face. The face of a person wearing black with bits of sharp metal jutting out in various directions just under the face. It was blurry, but it definitely looked like there had been someone standing in the window.  
What was up there, if anything at all? More ghosts? Lydia could only hope for another friendly attic ghost or two. Whatever, whoever it was, she was going to find out.

Edward was startled out of his inevitably failed staring contest with the wall by the sound of a car, just outside the window. A car? No one came up here, not ever. Not since...Edward didn't want to think about that night that had been the worst of his life, yet also the best.  
Shaking the bothersome thoughts from his head, he shuffled toward the window overlooking the yard to investigate.  
It definitely was a car, and it had stopped just in front of the gates. Three people emerged, a normal-looking man, a woman with vivid red hair, and a mass of black whom Edward wasn't sure what to make of, exactly. He couldn't see this person's face at all, as it was hidden beneath a grossly oversized black hat that seemed entirely too big for the person's small figure. It looked as if he or she would topple over at any second due to the illusion of the hat's tremendous weight, when in fact it weighed no more than your average straw hat.  
What are they doing here? He thought to himself, befuddled by the notion of visitors. He had never before laid eyes on this trio, he was sure. Edward never forgot a face; these were complete strangers to him. Were they new in the neighbourhood? Had they heard about him? Maybe they were coming to bring him back down again to see Kim. Maybe they were here to tell him that it was finally safe.  
Edward inched closer for a better look at these mysterious invaders. He could hear the man and the woman talking amongst themselves just inside the gate, but he paid little to no attention. He could scarce hear them, and the person in black was getting closer and closer to the house, too close for comfort. He would have to be ready to run and hide at any second.  
Then the head wearing the hat turned upwards, and a pale face was revealed to him. A face partially obscured by a pair of hands with a black object in their grasp.  
Blinking, Edward quickly shrank back into the shadows and let his eyes adjust to the dim light, once more. He was sure he had been spotted. Now he would have to hide.  
Snipping anxiously with his scissorhands he thought of where to best conceal himself. What did these people want with him? Were they friendly? Did they know about what happened with Jim, how he didn't wake up? He knew what he'd done was wrong. Were they here to take him to the police again? Edward didn't want to go back there. He was suddenly very afraid, yet his curiosity overcame his fear, and he decided on simply standing in the shadows against the wall, snipping nervously at the air and waiting. For what, he had no idea. He all but held his breath as he kept a sharp eye and an even sharper ear, and tried to shake the cold shivers that were dancing up and down his spine.

Here we go, again, Lydia thought to herself as she pushed open the heavy front door and stepped inside. The place was huge, bigger even than it looked on the exterior, with high ceilings and vast marble floors. Cobwebs and dust covered everything like a thin gossamer veil. She'd half expected everything to be clean since the yard seemed to be well cared for. None of the flowers were dying, the topiaries were neatly trimmed and the grass seemed fairly tame. In here, however, it looked as if no one had taken a broom or vacuum to anything in decades.  
"Hello?" she called out, not realising how dumb it was to be yelling into an empty house till she heard her own voice reverberating off the walls.  
Her boots left prints in the dusty floor as she made her way toward an enormous stone stairwell, at the foot of which stood what she supposed could be called a statue, though it reminded her of one of Delia's creepy sculptures, also covered in dust and cobwebs.  
Lydia turned and surveyed the nearly empty space around her. She could make out in the dim light what looked like some sort of machine at the far end of the room. There was a conveyor belt with various robots stationed behind and above it, all seeming to have been created to serve a different purpose. Lydia knew that Delia and her father would most likely want the thing removed, as it was very large and not exactly something that seemed too functional in a modern household. Continuing on up the stairs, she wondered if she'd ever get to find out what it did. But before she could go up so many as two more steps, her father's voice behind her halted her forward progression.  
"Like it, pumpkin"  
"Yeah, dad, it's really great. I'm dying of shock that you actually picked a house that both Delia and I can stand"  
"I don't mind it so much, myself. It's a fixer-upper, for sure, but"  
"Dad?" Lydia's echoing voice cut off that of her father's. She wanted to stop him before it was too late, before he got going and nothing in the world would be able to shut him up. Well, nothing except for his wife...maybe.  
"Yes, sugar pie"  
"How long has it been since someone lived here"  
"Oh, they told me years. Years and years. Decades"  
"Are you sure"  
"Yeah, honey, why"  
"Well..." Lydia was hesitant to tell Charles about what she'd seen in the window. After what happened last year with Adam and Barbara, she wasn't entirely sure her dad would believe her if she told him she'd seen something in the window. She was starting to feel like the girl who cried wolf, even if there had turned out to be ghosts in the attic...she still felt uneasy about the situation.  
"The topiaries, the flowers...they're all so well kept, as if a gardener has been tending them. But if there's no one here, and if there hasn't been for years, then how is that possible"  
For a few moments Charles looked just as puzzled about the inquiry as Lydia would be if she didn't know someone had to be there. She did see them, after all. Didn't she?  
"Well," he began, not entirely sure of himself as he stood scratching his head of thinning blonde hair and leaning against the doorframe. "Maybe the town gardener comes here from time to time, for practise...you know? And from the looks of things he's doing rather well, don't you think?" Lydia feigned a smile and nodded her head.  
Lame, dad. Very lame.  
"Yeah, that could be. I was just going to go upstairs, if that's ok? To take a few pictures of this place before you guys have it completely torn apart"  
"Sure, pumpkin," Charles said, not seeming to have heard the last part of his daughter's question. "I'll be down here with Delia, deciding on how best to fix this place up"  
Lydia continued her ascent up the stone staircase and surveyed the space around and below her as she climbed. The place was rather inhospitable. She knew they wouldn't be able to move in, straight away, and that they would probably have to set up camp in one of those terrible little cotton candy and peppermint excuses for a house at the bottom of the hill, but just so long as this house was their final destination, she could suffer through a few months in one of those disgusting...whatevers.  
Finally she reached the top of the stairs.  
"An attic. I want this as my room." It was very big, very empty, and also falling apart. There was a hole in the roof the size of an elephant. It looked as if a cannon had blasted apart the rafters and boards. She moved closer to the gaping wound in the roof and looked out.  
"Wow," she breathed. I wonder if I could persuade Delia and dad to let me keep this the way it is, she thought, knowing full well that they wouldn't. But if only they saw the view from up there, they may just let her have her way. She could see all the way to the ocean from up there. She reached for her camera but before she could raise it, she heard a quiet snip behind her and whirled around to see what had made the noise.  
"Who's there?" she asked quietly, squinting her eyes and moving slowly toward the shadows from whence the noise had come. She could just barely make out a dark figure, stiff and flat against the wall. She could feel eyes on her before she could see them. "I can see you. I know you're there, so you might as well show yourself." The figure didn't move, but Lydia heard the snipping sound again. It sounded like a pair of scissor blades rubbing against each other.  
Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, Lydia inched closer to the figure in the dark. If only she had a flashlight.  
Telling her hands not to start shaking, she took hold of the camera around her neck and lifted it slowly to her face.  
Click!  
In the brief flash of light, Lydia could see that the figure was very pale, had a head of wild black hair and was clad entirely in black. She could also deduce that there were sharp blades of metal where his hands should have been.  
Now, she wasn't one to lose her cool if something strange and even a little scary presented itself to her, but she was ashamed to admit that she was a little freaked out by this person, this...whatever he was.  
"Okay, I know you're there, why don't you just come out so I can see you? I'm not scared of you. I'm not going to hurt you. Seriously, just come into the light." 


	2. Nobody

+

Edward clenched his eyes shut and sank to the ground in shock. What was that thing? Where did that bright flash of white light come from? Oh, it hurt!

Gradually and blinking frequently, he opened his now watering eyes and tried to focus on the girl that the flash had come from, but all he saw were pink and green dots.

"Are you a vampire or something?" He heard her ask. "Is that why you can't step into the light?"

What's a vampire? Edward thought, but more importantly, Who are you? What do you want?

Taking a deep breath, he straightened and stood up. She had said she wasn't afraid of him, and that she wouldn't hurt him. They had all said that. They had all meant well...

Unable to control his hands as they snipped erratically at his sides, he took one hesitant step forward, then another, and another, until he was out of the shade and made visible by the afternoon sun streaming in through the hole in the roof.

Suffice it to say, her reaction, or lack thereof, was unexpected. She didn't gasp or scream or even ask him what had happened to him.

"He...he never finished me," was his reply to an unasked question.

"What?" the girl asked, raising an eyebrow.

Edward pursed his lips, answering only with the blinking of his fathomless ebony eyes. He had thought she'd asked him a question, but he'd only been hearing things. He began to feel a slight flush arise in his pallid cheeks as he realized what he'd done.

The girl, to his pleasant surprise, didn't seem to think it a big deal at all.

"So...you must be who trims the bushes out front," she said, her dark eyes moving down to look at his scissorhands.

Edward wanted to shove them behind his back, so ashamed was he of the hateful things. They could create beautiful things, and they made him special. He knew that, but ultimately, all they gave him was trouble, and he would do anything in his power to trade them in for a pair of real, flesh-and-bone hands, just like everyone else had. Unfortunately, he was powerless.

He managed a small nod in reply. He didn't want the girl to ask him questions, or even speak to him. All he wanted was to look at her, so long had it been since he'd seen a human being up-close. He just wanted to study her eyes, her hair, her clothing, all black, like his. But her face, though pale, was without scars. She looked beautiful. She looked like...no. Not really. Though there was something about her expression, the innocence, the fire...yes. She definitely reminded him of Her.

"Are...you okay?" she asked him, becoming concerned about the sorrow, the longing she saw in his glittering black eyes.

Those words...Her words...from so long ago.

"Yes." He couldn't stop staring at her. He knew it was wrong to gape at people, his father had taught him so, but he couldn't help it. She was so beautiful, and human, and so close. He wished he could just reach out and...

"So, you live here?" she asked, taking a step back, not quite convinced of the answer he'd given her. He'd gotten even paler, if that were possible, and he looked as if he were about to faint. She wanted to look away. The emotion in his eyes made her want to cry. It was so raw, so pure and honest. What was it that made him feel this way? Why was he looking at her like this? No, not looking at her. Looking into her, peering deep within the wells of her soul and seeking something. Seeking something he would not find.

"Well...uh..." she wasn't quite sure what to say. Maybe he didn't speak much English. Maybe she should ask him. Yes, that's it.

"I do."

"Great. You...you got a name?"

"Edward."

"Lydia." He'd almost expected her to say 'Kim' but wasn't too visibly disappointed when she didn't.

Etiquette told him that he should extend a hand and say "Pleased to meet you, Lydia." But he didn't have a hand, not like the people in the book did, and though he wanted to say something, anything to break the awkward silence, he found it quite impossible to do so.

Lydia smiled, if only slightly and seemed to read his mind. "I'd shake your hand, but that could get messy." Edward's feelings would have been hurt had he not know that it was all in fun. She didn't know how much not being normal bothered him. She didn't have to.

He smiled back.

"So yeah, uh, we're moving in. Oh shit! We're moving in?" Her expression changed suddenly as if something had just hit her upside the head, and in a way, it had. She'd forgotten all about their moving into the house. How could they live here if he did? How could he live here if they'd said no one had for decades? It didn't add up.

Edward just stared at her, his eyes speaking for him.

"We...we can't just take over your house...you do live here, right?" He nodded. He didn't understand what she was talking about. "Well I have to tell them! You have to tell them. I mean..." she made a noise of exasperation and turned away from him, heading across the room and back down the stairs.

Her flight in the opposite direction snapped Edward out of his trance.

"Wait!" he called quietly, raising a hand as if reaching to her, though he knew he could never touch her. "Don't leave. You just got here."

"I'm not leaving...I just have to tell them that someone all ready lives here. You have to come with me so that they believe me."

"I...don't understand." Lydia turned back to face him. She was confused, herself.

"Ok...I'm here with my parents. Well, my dad and my step-mom. We bought this house. We're planning on fixing it up so that its fit for living in, and then we're moving in. Or at least that's what we were going to do before I realized that someone already lives here. Jesus, how could they have sold the freaking house if it already belongs to somebody?"

"I don't have a social security number," Edward recited what the man at the bank had told him as clearly as if it had been said, yesterday. "I might as well not exist."

Lydia looked at him almost as if she'd been struck a blow to the chest.

"Who are you?" she found herself asking before she'd even remembered telling her lips to move.

"Nobody." 


	3. Compromise

+

Lydia had never heard anything like Edward's story, and though he didn't tell it in too many words, they were numerous enough to get the basic point across. How Peg the Avon lady had come up from that prim suburb below them and taken him under her wing without taking time to consider the consequences of her seemingly benevolent actions. How he'd made lots of friends who turned out to be his enemies, in the end. Edward didn't use these exact words, but Lydia could gather from the way in which he told his tale and the pain in his eyes that the end had not been pleasant. They chased him away. They milked his talent and willingness to do favours for them for all it was worth before discarding him like a piece of useless trash. Though that's not what he said or how he said it, Lydia could surmise that that was how it had been, and she pitied him more than she ever had, anyone, though she tried not to show it. She also hated the town even more than she had. She was disgusted by its prissy pastel shell, but even more so by what was inside.  
"She told me to run," he said in so few words, and she understood. He'd been in love with this girl, Kim Boggs, and would therefore do anything she asked him to, whether it be to run or to break into Jim's house and not tell the police all that he knew. Because she'd asked him to. How sweet.  
Lydia shifted from her left foot to her right, causing the floor to squeak noisily beneath her. She couldn't help thinking to herself, Wow. This guy is really amazing. Impossibly sweet. How could anyone have done that to him? They were cruel. Very cruel.  
And he was completely different from anyone she'd ever met before. Not entirely human. Not physically, anyway. But on the inside, behind his ghost white face and sharp blades he was the most human being she'd ever laid eyes upon.  
"He never had time to finish me...He never woke up." Finish him? That implied that he'd been created, not born. That was why he had scissors for hands. But why scissors? She wasn't even sure that Edward knew the answer to this, himself, so she decided to keep quiet about it. She knew he'd just stare at her like he always did when he didn't know how to answer something, and the look in his eyes made her uncomfortable with herself. He was so innocent and naïve, completely oblivious to the things she'd done, the things she'd thought about doing, the things people she knew had done. Such charming naivete. He had no idea.  
Edward wasn't much of one for chit chat, and thought he'd said no more than a handful of sentences, his story intriegued Lydia and made her thirsty for more knowledge about this mysterious man whose house her family had just purchased.  
"Is Kim still around? Does she still live down there?" she asked him, trying to figure out from whom she'd get her information.  
"I don't know." And he didn't. Edward had no idea how many years had passed since Kim went back down the mountain, only that it had been a long time. She may have moved to another town, or possibly even...Edward didn't want to think about the grim possibility of her being dead. Still, there wasn't a day that passed when he didn't wonder about where she was now, what she was doing...if she still thought of him...She couldn't be dead, though. Angels never die.  
Lydia swore to herself to find out more about Edward. She'd be living down there where this dent in Edward's life had taken place for at least a few months while the renovations were taking place, that is assuming that her parents still intended on keeping ownership after she told them about Edward. Someone was bound to be able to tell her something.  
After a long period of silence when she was sure that Edward had said all that he was going to say, she looked behind her at the staircase she'd intended to descend nearly an hour ago and sighed. Time to face her parents.  
"Well...I'd better go tell them about you." "You said you bought this house?" Edward asked, silently begging Lydia not to leave his sight.  
"Yes...we own it now, legally." She'd received less pathetic looks from a puppy dog with its tail between its legs, though she now understood why he was so bent on making sure she didn't leave him alone.  
"Then...it's yours. I don't mind. It's...it's very big for one person, anyway"  
"You mean you want to share it?" Edward managed a small smile and nodded. That's exactly what he wanted. Someone to share the house with. It made perfect sense; they wanted the house, he wanted company. Everyone could come away from this, satisfied. Lydia only hoped her parents would agree to such a thing. If they wanted the house, they had no choice. They couldn't just kick Edward out...she prayed they'd be cooperative and as open to the idea as she was.  
Lydia smiled up at Edward and just barely caught herself before offering her hand to him. "Come down with me. We have to talk to them."

Charles had never looked more perplexed in his entire life, and that was saying something. How could they have sold the house to him if it was already under ownership? he asked. Lydia explained to her father what Edward had told her upstairs.  
"I didn't see him when I came to check out the house," he said.  
"That's because he was hiding, dad. If you haven't noticed he's really shy." Edward was aware that he was being talked about, but he remained silent, as always, and staring blankly at the floor.  
After a long pause during which Charles turned over his thoughts on the present predicament in his head, he said, "Well, Edward...I suppose this means that you're going to be living with us"  
"Charles, you can't be serious," protested Delia, who had been still as the grave till now. Lydia gave her stepmother a sharp look. Edward said nothing. "Will you excuse us for a few moments?" she said to neither Edward nor Lydia in particular as she closed her red-clawed hand around her husband's arm and pulled him out the door, which slammed with a thud and a puff of dust.  
The quiet pair could hear husband and wife quarrelling from behind the heavy wooden door of the study that had once belonged to Edward's creator.  
"We bought this house, Charles. We don't even know if he's telling the truth, he could be lying about living here! Does he have any legal documents? Any ownership papers? He could just be hiding out, here. He has scissors for hands, Charles. Scissors! Did you see that? No wonder he's hiding out in an old dump like this, where else is a freak like that supposed to go?" Edward flinched upon hearing these sharp words being directed at him but his dark lips remained pressed together. She had called him that word. Freak. It stung him like a whiplash.  
Lydia noticed this and touched his shoulder lightly. How dare that woman talk about Edward that way. He seemed so sweet and innocent, one of the nicest people she'd ever met, yet here she was screaming that he was a freak. -She- was the freak.  
"Don't listen to her, Edward," she said, trying to convince him to heed her words. "She's just a stupid bitch," she added, under her breath. "I've seen a lot of freakish things in my time, and you are far from the top of the list"  
Edward's placid kohl eyes shifted from the floor to the young face of his defender and smiled, though his mouth remained plastered in the same expressionless pout. She'd expressed definite disapproval of the hurtful words being thrown around behind that door, and he wanted nothing more than to show his gratitude of this. Such a gesture of kindness shouldn't go unacknowledged, he thought, but what could he do other than mutter a pitiful,"Thank you," and look into her eyes with that same innocent curiosity he had when first their eyes met.  
"No problem. We can be friends, yes?" Edward's heart leapt and he almost forgot to nod his head.  
"I would like that"  
"Awesome. Few people can seem to relate to me, to understand my position on this God-forsaken planet, but you...you seem like the kind of guy I could get to know." And she meant it. Just look at him, she would say to anyone who might disagree. His style of dress and unkempt black hair was enough to show anyone that they were the same kind of people, kindred spirits. They were both lonely, misunderstood "freaks," rejected by the rest of the world for their differences, which, in the grand scheme of things, really made them no different from anyone else. If we cut ourselves, do we not bleed?  
His style of dress and unkempt hair were...really something. I.E. bar none the most awesome things she'd ever noticed about a guy, before. No one in Conneticut would ever dream of dressing like that. Except for maybe Lydia, herself. He was like nothing she'd ever seen before. Come to think of it, she'd only seen so much leather and metal on one outfit in goth shops online, and those had all been way out of her price range. And he was so pale. It was amazing.  
As Charles and Delia continued to argue in the study, Lydia tried her best to distract her near-mute companion by engaging in conversation with him, picking any topic that popped into her head. She'd deduced that, by the way their previous conversation had gone that Edward was the strong, silent type. Still, she was curious and wanted to know what interested him, and if they had anything other than the obvious in common. When their chat was finished, she'd found out that this man had spent the majority of his life in isolation. He'd never been off the grounds except for that one time that Mrs. Boggs had brought him home. He knew little to nothing of music, movies, recent novels, the internet, anything all the other guys his age would have been well aware of. But he did know about some older authors, including Edgar Alan Poe, and that earned him points in her book.

The sun had begun its descent into the western horizon and the Deetzes were preparing to call it a night. Delia was leaning toward the idea of going back down the hill and finding 1324 Cherry Blossom Court to await the arrival of the moving van. Charles had, after much pleading and stressful negotiation, finally convinced her to allow Edward to stay with them, if only to appease his teenaged daughter. He almost felt as if he owed it to her.  
"But he should help pay for the expenses. Water and electricity and all that," she said, still rather huffed about the idea of sharing her new home with a perfectly strange stranger.  
"With what?" Charles asked. "We don't even know if he has any money"  
"Lydia, does your friend have any money?" Lydia was getting more disgusted with her stepmother by the minute.  
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" she spat. "He can talk, you know." Delia looked as if she wanted to smack her firey stepdaughter right in the mouth, and Lydia was keen on doing the exact same thing to Delia.  
"Fine. Edward?" He looked timidly up at Delia. What she lacked in physical size she made up for, vocally.  
"Yes?" he said ever so softly.  
"Do you have any money to help us pay for this place?" Edward thought for a moment. A long time ago, his father had told him about a fortune to be gained upon the old man's death. Well, the old man was dead now, so he must be in possession of some kind of fortune...but he wasn't sure exactly what. He had the house and everything within it, but maybe there was money hidden somewhere in an unknown location which the old man had neglected to disclose to Edward before his unexpected passing.  
"I guess so," he replied, unsure of himself.  
"You guess so?" she repeated in an intimidating manor. Lydia would not stand by and let the hateful woman bully her new friend like she did her father.  
"Go easy on him, okay? He's really confused about all this. Can't you just leave him alone"  
"Okay Lydia, we'll leave him alone." Edward looked positively terrified upon the mention of that word. Alone? But the girl had said she wouldn't leave him.  
Lydia noticed the obvious ripple in Edward's usually expressionless face and patted his arm in an attempt to comfort him.  
"Come on, Charles," Delia said, already walking toward the door. The man followed as if being pulled along by an invisible thread. Lydia ignored her parents and focused her attention on Edward.  
"Don't worry, I'll come back and see you tomorrow," she reassured him. This helped a bit, and Edward's face resumed its usually calm expression...but there was something else bothering him.  
"I don't think she likes me very much...your mother"  
"Step-mother," Lydia corrected gently. "Like I said, don't pay any attention to her. Her opinion doesn't matter. I just have to tell them what you told me. I'm sure they'll change their minds about you. I like you," she added, grinning. Edward smiled back.  
"You'll come back tomorrow?" he asked as she headed for the door.  
"You bet," she said. "See ya." She was tempted to blow a kiss before shutting the door behind her but thought better of it. Now to tackle her parents. Lydia wanted nothing more than to shut herself up in whatever isolated space was available to her when they got to their temporary settlement and listen to music on her headphones, but she couldn't. Nor could she go out into the neighbourhood, ringing doorbells and asking about the man who lived in the creepy house on the hill. Judging by the subject of the inquiry and her strange and dark appearance, that wouldn't be too well-received in this quaint and quiet town. Not from what Edward had already told her. These people liked other people like them, and were afraid of the strange and unusual like Edward, like herself. She'd just have to wait on that. Now she focused on explaining Edward to her parents. This was going to be a long night.

"What do you mean you don't think he needs those things, pumpkin?" Charles asked his daughter as he took a bite of his shrimp and noodle dish. It was tradition, it seemed, to order Cantonese take-out the first few nights in whatever house they'd just moved into. It was also tradition for Delia to remind everyone how much she hated the stuff. Charles and his daughter found a secret pleasure in this small act of defiance against the iron grasp of the main woman in their life and they smiled at each other from across the table as they ate, and as Delia bitched.  
"Well, dad, he's lived up there so long without them...so I'm just assuming that he can get along fine without them"  
"How does he refrigerate his food? Bathe? ...relieve himself"  
Delia dropped her chopsticks into the cardboard container, a look of disgust playing across her tired face. "Do we really have to discuss this at the dinner table"  
"I don't see why it should bother you so much," Lydia said, shoveling another bite of noodles in her mouth. "We can't ruin what you've already ruined for yourself," she muttered, referring to her lack of appetite. Before Delia could respond, Lydia proceeded to give Charles her theory on the subject. "How often would you bathe if you had scissors for hands? And you saw that outfit. I didn't notice any zippers or snaps...personally I don't think it comes off"  
"That's ridiculous honey, it must come off, somehow." Lydia shook her head.  
"No, I don't think so. And even if it does, how would he get it off? Also, I don't think he has the usual every-day necessities we do"  
"What makes you say that?" Delia piped up, attempting once more to choke down a bite of chicken from her carton. "Is he some sort of extraterrestrial being from outer space or something? Is he another one of your ghosts"  
"Well...kind of," Lydia said hesitantly. She paused just long enough to see the looks her father and Delia were giving her. She knew that if she stayed silent for much longer.  
"Well, what the hell is he?" Delia, always impatient. Always needing to know right. now.  
"I'm not exactly sure, but I think it's a combination of man and machine. He said to me, 'He never had time to finish me,' which implies that he was made and not born like a normal human being. So if he's part robot, that would explain why he doesn't need to eat, bathe, or do any of those things that normal human beings need to do in order to live"  
It seemed to Lydia that her parents were swallowing the bait she threw out, and that was a good thing. It made sense, after all, yet it was confusing. How could a robot, a machine have such a human soul? Lydia had seen it. It peered out at her through those sparkling ebony eyes of his that spoke volumes without his lips ever having moved. Every time she looked into those eyes, she felt so many things, one of which being the feeling of refreshment. She'd never seen or felt anything like what she did when she looked into his eyes, into the core of his very being, which was constructed of so much more than metal and gears. She almost couldn't wait to see him again, the next day. She found herself looking forward to it.  
"And that's why I think he shouldn't have to pay for any of those things; he doesn't even have use for them." 


	4. Starlight, Starbright

Don't think I can't see right through your eyes Scared to death as you face reality No one seems to hear your hidden cries You're left to face yourself alone -Evanescence

It had been several days since the Deetzes' arrival in pastel hell and Lydia remained unsuccessful in her search for more information about Edward. She wouldn't have even bothered going from door to door, asking the same question only to have the door shut in her face if there were something better to do. She was ready to pen "Don't hate me because I'm goth" onto her forehead. She knew the townspeople didn't like her simply because of her strange appearance, and even if she did get past the pleasantries, which were not pleasant at all, as soon as they heard her mention Edward the door stepped in and intervened in the conversation.

She was nearly ready to give up, when as she walked down the sidewalk, heading toward home, a car pulled quietly up alongside her, almost appearing from nowhere.

"I hear you're looking for information about the man who lives up there," the woman in the driver's seat said, gesturing toward the house on the hill. Lydia nodded.

"Yeah...I'm not really getting anywhere with that," she said, obviously dismayed. The woman smiled.

"I think I could help you. Would it bother you if I offered you a ride to my place? We could talk there." Lydia knew she should have been hesitant about getting into a car with a complete stranger, in a completely strange place, but this woman seemed completely harmless. Motherly, even. And she was so elated that her luck was finally looking up after a long day of slamming doors and odd glances that she didn't even think twice about opening the passenger's door and hopping right in.

"Thanks," she said, fastening her seatbelt. "Uh, I'm Lydia."

"Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself, that's the first thing I should have done." The woman turned to Lydia and pushed her glasses up off her nose. "Heather Boggs," she said, extending her hand.

Lydia's face lit up at the sound of the familiar last name. This was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She was sure to get some information out of this woman.

"Pleased to meet you," she said, shaking Heather's hand and trying not to grin like an idiot.

Mrs. Boggs was much wordier than Edward, and for this Lydia was grateful. She learned all that she'd wanted to know and then some. She was however a bit saddened to learn that Heather's grandmother and Edward's long lost love, Kim had passed away several years ago. As she sipped her milk and munched absently on the homemade cookies she'd been offered she silently debated whether or not to break this unfortunate news to Edward. Mrs. Boggs noticed that Lydia seemed troubled and distant and decided to ask what was the matter. Lydia told her.

"Oh..." she trailed off, as if pondering what she would do were she in Lydia's shoes, "I don't think it's really necessary to tell him. You don't even have to tell him about me, about what you learned concerning him, today."

"But what if he asks?" Mrs. Boggs smiled warmly.

"A little white lie won't hurt him...but the truth might." Lydia nodded, comprehendingly.

"He's been hurt enough." She didn't want to contribute to the poor boy's pain.

"Well, thanks so much for your help, Mrs. Boggs," Lydia said, brushing cookie crumbs from her skirt and standing up. "And your hospitality. I was hoping for something, but I certainly wasn't expecting this. Not from these people," she said. But Mrs. Boggs was clearly very different from the rest of the neighbourhood, and Lydia was glad of it.

"They don't take too kindly to strangers, its true," Mrs. Boggs said as she walked Lydia to the door. "Do you want me to give you a lift home, dear? Its getting dark and you're new to the neighbourhood. I don't want you to get lost."

"Actually, I wasn't going to go home...not just yet." Mrs. Boggs smiled. She didn't have to ask where her young friend was going; she already knew.

"Alright, dear. I'll take you there."

"Thanks." And the pair went into the garage, into the car and down the road. All this talk about Edward had made her miss him and feel the overpowering need to see him, which she found odd. It wasn't like she was attached to him. She'd only known him a total of four days, yet it seemed like longer for some inexplicable reason. She blamed her warm feelings for him on sympathy, though she knew it was more than that. She would go up there to see if she couldn't find out what.

Lydia found Edward in the garden in front of the house. He was standing still, his back slightly arched, leaning against an invisible wall behind him, staring up at the calm night sky. For a few moments all she did was watch him, silently from the shadows. The moonlight made his face appear even paler than it was. It made it glow. His scissorhands glinted and gleamed as they snipped quietly, the only movement keeping him from being a statue. That and the occasional blink of a dark eye.

Eventually Lydia brought herself to tear her eyes away from his still and strangely beautiful figure long enough to begin moving toward him. She cleared her throat when she was a good four yards away from him so as not to cause him alarm. Scaring him was the last thing Lydia wanted to do. To throw a pebble into such a calm pond would be a sin.

At first Lydia thought perhaps he hadn't heard her, as his head remained tilted toward the sky, his eyes lost in the stars. Nothing about him changed. He was frozen in time. Then he spoke.

"Look," he said quietly. Lydia moved closer to him before obeying. She'd looked at the stars plenty of times before, but not in a long time, and never had they seemed so clear, so bright, and so close that she felt should she reach out a hand she could grab one. She could almost feel them floating in her eyes as she gazed. They were really beautiful. Neither of them said so aloud but both knew that the other was thinking it. It was just one of those things that could get away without being said and the point could still be gotten across. It was brilliant.

A speeding streak of white light shot across the sky and was swallowed by the yawning blackness that stretched out forever and ever; a silver-scaled fish leaping out of a wave and disappearing into it again.

Lydia looked at her companion's glowing face. It was almost as if something in him had changed. She could nearly hear the thoughts running through the mysterious, cavernous halls of his head. He was making a wish, just as he did every night. Turning her head up to the pool of glittering starlight above her, she closed her eyes and willed a silent wish of her own to swim into its waiting arms.

They awoke the next morning to a loud banging sound. Edward missed Lydia's face by half an inch, and was more frightened at the possibility of having cut her than at the noise itself.

"What the hell...?" Suddenly an enormous boom sounded from downstairs, much like the one that had jerked them from their slumber.

"They must be fixing the house," Edward said, once he'd recovered enough to speak.

"Fixing?" Lydia's voice went up an octave. "They're ripping it apart!" In the blink of an eye she was on her feet, pounding down the stairs, leaving Edward still seated with his back against the wall, blinking dazedly.

He found her downstairs in the storm of dust and loud crashes and bangs.

"Honey? Is that you?" Charles' voice came from somewhere to the left of the staircase.

"Dad? What are you doing! You can't do this! It's dangerous! Edward and I have been upstairs all night! What if something collapsed!" She seemed oblivious that she'd just admitted to spending the night with Edward, but then so did her father, whose figure was barely visible through the thick cloud of dust in the air.

"Sugar, we have to get this done. The sooner the better."

"But shouldn't you ask Edward before you blow his house to smithereens?" The wrecking ball swung in and knocked out another wall, as if for emphasis. "What if there's something important that he actually doesn't want ruined?"

As if queued by her very words, Edward bolted past Lydia, across the room and over to the door of his creator's study, nearly tripping over a large board as he did so, completely unaware that the wrecking ball was swinging dangerously above his head.

"Edward, no!" She cried. "Dad, can't you stop that thing? I don't want him to get hurt!" Charles, not enjoying seeing his daughter reduced to the hysterics usually adopted by his wife walked over to the machine and signaled for its operator to cease wrecking for the moment.

Lydia followed Edward into the room as soon as she was convinced that the god-awful machine had stopped running. She found him with his back turned to her, and he seemed to be holding something as best he could. Lydia moved closer to see what it was.

"I don't care what you do to the rest of the house," he said, looking down at the dusty leather book that he balanced awkwardly atop his scissorhands. "Just don't destroy this room. It's not mine. He needs it." Lydia didn't have to inquire as to whom Edward was referring, and she suddenly felt sorry for him, for the millionth time since she'd met him. Didn't he know the meaning of death? No, how could he? He barely knew the meaning of life.

"He needs this. He needs it to finish me." Lydia ran her fingers over the worn cover of the book.

"May I?" she asked, putting both hands on it, ready to lift as soon as permission was granted. Edward gave a slight nod and she took the book from him. Its pages were yellow and tattered, its text hand-written in a spidery black scrawl. It had illustrations throughout, complete with detailed instructions. Step-by-step directions...but for what? Lydia's eyes skimmed the pages, hungry for knowledge. As she turned them, it became more and more evident to her that the directions pertained to the assembly of Edward, himself. It was incredible. She could definitely see why Edward didn't want any harm to come to this book, and she would be certain that none did. In these pages lay the answers. In these pages lay the solution. In these pages...

"I'm going to help you," she said, looking into those fathomless black eyes. "I'm not sure how, and I can't do it alone...but I will." The eyes smiled, as did the reflection within them. 


	5. Cookies

Lydia was greeted by a clatter of pots and pans as she entered her house after a long day at school. The students hadn't accepted her too well...she was having trouble adjusting, but then she always did. Coming home to Edward and seeing his happiness upon her return was her only motivation for going, in the first place.

She heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen, followed immediately by gasp. What the hell was going on in there?

Hesitantly, she pushed open the door.

She didn't know whether to laugh at the sight she beheld or scream, for it was frighteningly amusing...or perhaps amusingly frightening.

"Edward, what on earth...?" He froze in the middle of the room, his pale face made whiter by the flour powdered all over it. Bits of raw egg dripped from his tangle of black hair. His apron was shredded and decorated in much the same way as his hair and face. The television glowed in the corner, the face of Martha Stewart filling up the screen.

"...cookies...?" he squeaked, blinking.

Lydia could no longer hold back her howls of laughter, try though she did. Edward just stood there, blinking and dripping egg whites onto the dirty floor.

"I'm...I'm sorry..." she said, trying to catch her breath as she all but stuffed her fists into her mouth to keep from laughing. She really didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he looked ridiculous, and the place was a mess. Also, the fact that he was trying to make cookies just tickled her. She supposed he wouldn't have much trouble cutting them...

"Here, I'll help you clean this up before my parents get home." Edward didn't budge. Had his project failed so horribly? He thought he was following the directions rather well, and was doing a pretty good job, considering...

"I wanted to..." he hesitated, snipping his scissorhands nervously. "...I wanted to have them ready for when you got home..."

Lydia could feel her heart melt in her chest and couldn't stop a small "aw" from escaping her lips. God, but this boy was sweet...

"Oh, it's ok Edward," she said, abandoning her milk-soaked paper towel and walking toward him. "I'll help you make a batch once we've got all this cleaned up, if you want." She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and he smiled. Maybe his efforts hand't been in vain, after all.

He nodded. "I would like that."

"Great," Lydia beamed. She had no idea what kind of metal the rest of him was made of, but she was certain that his heart was solid gold.

Neither of them spoke until every last cookie had been devoured.

Edward hadn't been able to help her, much, but she didn't mind. Just having him there, watching her with childlike awe as she stirred the batter and spooned it onto the cookie sheet was enough for her. He hadn't said more than a handful of words but she wasn't surprised, or bothered by his silence. She'd been exposed to loud mouths all day, gabbing on and on about the most pointless things and gossiping to no end. It was refreshing to come home to someone so pleasantly mute.

"Did you like them?" she finally asked, washing down some crumbs with a drink of milk.

Edward nodded and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Very nice."

"Good. Thanks for helping me with them."

Edward knew he hadn't done much of anything but stand around and watch, but he remember learning once that sometimes its better to graciously accept a thank you or a compliment, even if you don't agree with it, than to argue and possibly offend the other person.

"You're welcome."

Edward hadn't managed to wipe up all the chocolate from his lips and after some debating, Lydia decided to help him out, albeit she did so in a way not entirely of her choosing. Her first impulse would have been to kiss away every trace of the dark sweetness from his mouth...but she knew full well that to do so would make him terribly uncomfortable. He wasn't ready for such intimacy, no matter how badly Lydia wanted to give it to him.

"You forgot a bit," she said, taking her own napkin and pressing it to the corners of his lips. He flinched slightly, still not accustomed to the small amounts of close contact Lydia often bestowed upon him but was instantly assured that it was alright, that she wouldn't hurt him. Edward felt embarrassed and a little silly. Of course she wouldn't hurt him. He wished he could stop being so bashfull all the time, and hoped that he would eventually get over his shyness; the sooner the better.

He had no way of knowing it, but Lydia hoped so too, and vowed to herself to help in any way that she could. She'd just take it slow, let him move at his own pace, and who knows what they one day might accomplish?

Lydia smiled and wiped away the last hint of chocolate from Edward's face.

"There," she said. "That's better." 


	6. Creep

iWhen you were here before couldn't look you in the eye/i

Edward sat alone on his straw mat of a bed, absently snipping his scissorhands and staring at the dusty floor in deep contemplation. The Deetzes had finished the house, and though they'd tidied it up a bit, they'd left the attic un-renovated, except for the hole in the roof, which they'd patched up only the third day into their re-modeling adventure. He was sad, because now it was dark and even more dreary and isolated than before. The view had overlooked the entire town behind the mansion, and sometimes, if Edward tried really hard, on a clear day he could see the ocean. The white birds flying over the rooftops of the peaceful town made him smile as they swooped and screeched. He shared a kind of odd kindrance with them, almost; neither of them really belonged down there, yet they could still see everything that was going on as no one else could. They had the best view of it all, yet they could never really be part of it. Edward wondered sometimes whether or not the birds felt the same detatchment and loneliness that he did. But no...probably not...at least -they- had other bird-friends to talk to, and to fly with. Edward was and always would be alone, and would always be stuck here, with broken wings.

Well...there -was- Lydia. It made Edward's face hot, just to think about her. He really enjoyed her company, and wished she had more time for him. She hadn't been up to chat with him for at least a week. Whenever he'd wandered into her room, she'd be sitting at her computer, typing and clicking away, her dark eyes glued to the glowing screen that sat no less than two feet in front of her face. He'd stand silently in the doorway, watching her fingers as they flew across the keyboard at lightening speed before shuffling quietly back up to his room, convinced that whatever she was busy with was more important than him. He'd think of speaking up, of saying "Is it okay if I just sit here and watch you, so that I'm not alone, up there?" but he never got so far as the first syllable. It's not like he ever really had anything to say to her, anyway, though he wished desperately that he could think of something, -anything- to say to her on the rare occassions when she would come up and visit him. But whenever he heard the clunking of her boots as she climbed the stairs, it startled him out of anything he'd been prepared to say. He spent hours just sitting around and rehearsing conversations with her, but he just got so excited whenever he heard her voice wafting up the stairs like the sound of church bells, or an angel choir, that he forgot everything he'd sworn he'd had memorized. He was just like a caged puppy about to be paid attention to, and he really wished he'd get over it, and actually be able to make some semblance of conversation. He remembered back when his father read to him from the big book of etiquette, how it had dedicated a chapter solely to making polite conversation. Hmm...

But he didn't really think Lydia wanted to talk about the weather, how lovely her dress was or how the "stock market" was doing...whatever -that- was. Well, she would probably appreciate a compliment, but he blushed just thinking about it; her smiling face, her arms around him in a loose embrace, her glittering dark eyes looking up at him, expectantly. What did she want from him, anyway? What did he possibly have to offer?

Edward swallowed, hard. If just thinking about her was making him this nervous, how would he ever be able to talk to her? -Really- talk to her?

iYou're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry /i

He sighed and leaned back against the wall, the boards creaking under his weight. Edward wrinkled his nose and blinked. Something was tickling his face. After a moment, he discovered that the culprit was not cobwebs as per usual, but a particularly long and unruly strand of hair hanging down from his massive nest of dark tangles and right into his eyes. He placed his tongue between his lips and poised his scissors in the manner of five-year-olds concentrating on construction-paper-and-paste projects, everywhere. Then, with perfect precision, snipped it clean off. There, that was better.

He let his eyes drift lazily to his left and brought them to rest on a picture of an angel he'd clipped from a magazine, one of the many littering the dusty floor. The angel was female, and her young and innocent face was framed by a long, flowing mane of golden hair. He'd cut it out because it had reminded him of Her, but now he pictured the hair being a darker shade, with lines of black smudged beneath her eyes. Lydia. Perfect Lydia. Lydia, whose skin, though pale like his own, was smooth and unmarred. He longed to touch it with real, human hands, to feel its softness and warmth. Just thinking about how he would never be able to made him want to cry.

But she'd said that she would help him...but how...? And she hadn't visited him for so long...

iYou float like a feather in a beautiful world /i

He pictured her as he'd first seen her, her black skirts long and flowing, billowing gently in the light fall breeze. The veil from her huge black hat, trailing behind her as she floated into his life from out there; a world he'd tried desperately to be a part of. Maybe he simply hadn't tried hard enough? Maybe the circumstances were just wrong, at the time? Maybe...

But, no. He was never going back down there. He was a freak. He was scary. He was unnatural and dangerous. No, this is where he belonged, though he was sad to admit it. He supposed he liked it well enough up there, in his attic, though it was much less pleasant now that his big window had been taken away, and that he could never really get any peace and quiet because of all the crazy music Delia liked to blast, downstairs. But what more could he ask for, really? What more was there to have?

A friend...or maybe something...a little bit sweeter...?

iI wish I was special you're so very special/i

No. No, don't even start dreaming like that again, Edward. It's not good for you, and you know it. Remember what happened, last time? You couldn't handle that if it happened, again.

He made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat and laid down on his side. Sitting up was beginning to get uncomfortable, and he really was tired. But he didn't sleep. He never really slept, he just sort of...shut down.

iBut I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here./i

Sometimes Edward wondered why he didn't just run away from that place. It was being invaded by strangers who'd torn it all apart and rebuilt it to their tastes (or more specifically, to Delia's tastes). But he knew why, deep in his heart...if he even had one of those. He didn't run because there was nowhere to run to. This was the only place where he could hide and remain unburdened by the rest of the cruel world. And yet, lately, even though he'd lived up there for who knew how long, he was beginning to feel out of place. It was like the house was his skin and he had an itch but was unable to scratch it. He knew it was because of those people. He was grateful that they'd not kicked him out, completely...though, in a way, they kind of had. Yes, he was still allowed to sit up there, in the dark, day after day, unbothered save for Lydia's visits...and those he did not mind in the slightest, though lately they'd been few and far apart, which was beginning to worry him, though he tried not to think about it...but really, he knew the house was no longer his. Would they even let him work on his topiaries, anymore? It was the only thing that ever really kept him busy. He hoped they didn't take that away from him, too... He knew that his father's precious possessions had been carelessly discarded, or sold, depending on their value. At least his book had been saved, thanks to Lydia... He knew that none of them wanted him there, except for Lydia...at least he -hoped- she did... But how could he be sharing the same house; breathing the same air as such a beautiful creature? It didn't feel right. It made Edward very uncomfortable and twitchy, and he didn't know if and when it would stop. Every day that passed without a visit from Lydia, the feeling got worse and more bothersome. Edward didn't know how much longer he would be able to stand it. It was comforting to know that there were people living in close proximity to him, that he wasn't completely alone, yet at the same time, that very fact made him feel more alone than ever before.

iI don't care if it hurts, I want to have control/i

He wished that only Lydia had come, like Peg had done so many years ago. He didn't like the Deetzes, because they didn't like him. They'd made that clear the moment they'd locked eyes with him, and probably even before. He was creepy; not like them. He'd wished he'd been able to tell them to get out, that it was his house, that they couldn't live there. But, Lydia...she'd really liked the house, and seemed to like him. He pictured the look of disappointment that she would have worn had he spoken up and chased them off of the property. But that's just not who he was. He rarely even spoke, and if he did, it wasn't to say anything profound or relevant. It wasn't that he didn't have a firm grasp on vocabulary, because he really did. He knew lots of words, and some pretty big ones, too...he just never got to use them. So he remained a push-over, a door-mat, something people just walk all over, regardless of how it made him feel...and he did feel, sometimes so much that it scared him. iI want a perfect body I want a perfect soul/i

Edward looked down at the many buckles and straps that criss-crossed his chest. What was under there? he wondered. Just what exactly was he made out of? He honestly did not know; he'd been "born" in this black leather bodysuit, with no detectable zippers or buttons of any kind. He'd never taken it off and was kind of trapped in it...unless he should choose to take more drastic measures to remove it... The blades of his scissorhands glinted in the light coming in from the window...but then he wouldn't have any clothes. And what if what he found under there was...something he didn't want to see? He had enough problems with looking at himself in a mirror; he couldn't bear to discover something -else- wrong with him. Oh well, at least what he could see of his body shape looked okay. He was a little thinner, and perhaps more gangly than most other people he'd seen, but that was all right...wasn't it? He'd seen pictures of men in magazines that seemed to be about his size and shape; gaunt and waifish. They were what the magazines called "models," and they donned clothing from all the latest fashions, some of which were comprised of leather, buckles and straps, which gave him at least a little confidence. Maybe he wasn't as different as he'd been made to think. Maybe, by some stretch of the imagination, he could even be considered attractive. Joyce had certainly seemed to think so, though he still couldn't quite piece together what exactly had happened with her, even after all these years...

...but how could that be, if everything he'd ever known had him convinced that his existence was flawed? The few kind words he'd recieved in his abnormally long lifetime were beginning to fade into the background, their meaning lost in the long stretch of time he'd spent alone, yearning for companionship, for someone...anyone...to talk to.

iI want you to notice when I'm not around You're so very special I wish I was special/i

It seemed that the most likely provider of what he pined for was Lydia. She was the only one that made his life worth living, not that he could really stop if he wanted to...could he? Edward had never tried to kill himself. The thought had crossed his mind, once or twice; could I ever just stop existing? He still didn't fully grasp the concept of death. He knew what it was; he'd read about it and had it explained to him...but it was such an abstract idea...that someone could just...go away, and never come back? Where did they go? Why didn't they come back? What made them go away? It was all so confusing, it made Edward's head hurt, thinking about it.

He began to wonder how Lydia would react if one day, he just wasn't there, anymore. Would she even notice? Would she even care? Would she wish that he wasn't gone? Would she miss him? Part of him wanted to go away and hide for a while, just so that he could come back to see, but, on the off-chance that she -would- care, and that she -would- miss him, he would not make a move to sate his curiousity. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he ever hurt Lydia, sweet Lydia...

iShe's running out again.../i

No, no, please let her stay...she's all that I have...please, don't ruin it, this time...

Edward quickly tried to banish from his troubled mind the thought of Lydia ever going away. He wanted her to always be there, even if he was never able to really open up to her like he wanted to. Just for him to be able to look at her, see her smile and hear her voice was almost enough...almost.

iwhatever makes you happy, whatever you want, you're so very special I wish I was special.../i

But, if she ever wanted to leave, he wouldn't keep her there. He wouldn't tie her down. He...he loved her. He wanted her to be happy, no matter what. He hoped she could be, with him, but he was terrified that she wouldn't be. He needed reassurance. He needed to see her pretty face and feel her hand on his shoulder, or on his cold cheek. She'd only touched him there once, and he'd freaked out a little. He supposed his reaction had been what kept her from ever trying to touch his face, again, and he kicked himself for it. When was he going to stop acting like a kicked dog and start acting like the normal person he knew he could be, with a little bit of practise?

iBut I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo, What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here./i

Edward closed his tired eyes and tried to stop thinking. It was wearing him out and he was beginning to feel very down. Thinking about Lydia not visiting him wasn't going to help. If she didn't want to visit him, that was her choice. But he so badly wished that she was only busy, and would continue to come see him, once whatever had been occupying her time, lately, was finished.

His eyes did not stay closed for long, and he looked around his dark room. It looked so different, yet the same. It was a little bit cleaner, and some of the old junk that Delia fancied had been moved downstairs to decorate her studio, but otherwise, it was more or less the same room he'd been in for years. Then why did he feel so out of place?

He exhaled sharply and a cloud of dust rose up out of his pillow. He coughed twice and blinked his beady black eyes as the dust assaulted them.  
iI don't belong here./i 


	7. Damn Those TV Programs

I am soooo sorry this took so long to update I started writing it shortly after six was posted, but I got stuck about half-way through. But I forced myself to finish the next chapter in time for this fic's one year anniversary (can you believe it?) I'm really sorry, I know I hate when authors take forever to update, but I was side-tracked by other muses (damn you Mort Rainey!) I have no idea when chapter eight will be up, but I do have a start on it. A thousand apologies. This chapter isn't the best, I guess...but at least it's something. I hope you still read it.

Lydia walked through the crowded hallways of her new highschool, her books clutched tightly to her chest as she wove a path through the groups of skinny blonde girls and beefy jocks. Occassionally she would glance to her left, or to her right, catching someone's eye, but mostly she just stared down at the brown tiled floor beneath her worn black boots, hoping that none of these strangers would stop her and try to talk to her. They were okay, she supposed; none of them had really done anything too mean to her, not like they sometimes did at the other public schools she'd attended. Her parents wanted her to go to a private school, somewhere more like Ms. Shannon's (and Delia wanted her sent away to boarding school, but thankfully Charles would have none of it), but there was no such place in this suburban hell hole, which kind of surprised Lydia. Though undoubtedly of the lowest intelligence known to man, these kids certainly looked prep-school material.

She counted her steps to her next class, quick and steady. She was almost there. She was so close now, she could see the open door to the room where she was supposedly being taught Englishone of the only subjects Lydia had even the mildest of interest in. She was nearly there, when suddenly she felt a large hand clap down onto her right shoulder. She flinched and spun around to see to whom the hand belonged. It was Jake, this guy that was known as kind of a punk; a delinquenthe was of no interest to Lydia. He wore a leather jacket, black sunglasses and a tight black shirt to show off his muscles. He looked to Lydia like something straight out of the movie "Grease", only missing that ridiculous pompadore hairstyle that was popular for some ungodly reason during the fifties. (Oh yeah, that's rightElvis). He wasn't unattractive, or even bad looking, at all, but something about his crooked smile rubbed Lydia the wrong way, and she moved her shoulder ever-so-slightly to escape his grip on her.

"Lydia, isn't it?" he said, pushing his shades further up on his nose to hide his bright blue eyes. Lydia nodded and swallowed. People in sunglasses had always made her nervous. Whenever she wore them, she was always secure in the knowledge that she could stare at someone for as long as she pleased, and they might never know. If everyone who wore sunglasses was in on this little secret, she was in trouble.

"Yeah, Jack right?" she said, purposely getting his name wrong, just to see his reaction.

"It's Jake, actually, but you can call me whatever you want, sweetcheeks." Again with that awful smile. It was the kind of smile a middle-aged man with a trenchcoat and an untidy goatee gives a five year old as he's inviting her into his car. Cold shivers danced up and down Lydia's spine as she stared into the glossy black frames of Jake's glasses and she smiled nervously.

"Well, hey, I gotta get to class," she said gesturing over her shoulder to her classroom, the open door a mere few feet away from her. She could feel the anxiety building up in her chest, but she knew that once she set foot inside that brightly-lit classroom she would be safe.

"Catch you after school?" It was more of a statement than a request. Lydia gave him another fake grin as he pointed his finger at her and made a clicking noise with his tongue, like he was some hip old movie star or something.

Lydia let her breath out and rolled her eyes as soon as his back was turned. "I hope the only thing you'll catch is an STD, you creepy bastard," she muttered under her breath as she quickly retreated to her sanctuary and took her seat in the furthest of the identical rows of desks. Maybe she should give the guy half a chance. Maybe he wasn't as big a jerk as everybody said he was. Hell, they were all jerks, too. What did they know? But that smile...Lydia shuddered just thinking about it. She decided that she would probably be able to stand him so long as he kept his mouth shut. Why couldn't every guy be more like Edward? Sweet, simple, silent Edward? And why, when jerks like that were willing to talk to her, was the one person she wanted to talk to more than anyone always so quiet and reluctant to do so?

iJust give him time/i she told herself as she opened her notebook to copy down the notes on the board. iHe'll come around if you just give him a chance. He'll be thrilled once he knows what you've been planning for him. Maybe he'll be so excited that you'll actually be able to squeeze a few words out of him./i Lydia literally wanted to squeeze him, just come up to him one day and wrap her arms around him and give him the most gigantic hug she'd ever given anyone, but she remained respectful of his personal boundaries and kept her feelings in check, for fear of scaring him away. It was still too soon to tell exactly what he felt for her, but she knew that he felt -something- and that was good, at least.

As she mimicked the loopy cursive written across the green board, she felt her mind begin to wander to a place it would much rather bewith Edward. She couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork. She rarely could, these days, so obsessed was she with her studies of Edward and how he worked, and how she could make him better. Well, not better, but "normal"what he'd always wanted to be, what he'd always been intended to be. She was determined to finish the job that the inventor had left only partially completed. It would be no easy task, and she would not be able to do it alone, but she'd been contacting various surgeons over the past week via e-mail, sending them questions and copies of the diagrams in the inventor's old book. No one had replied yet, but she was confident that -someone- was bound to take an interest in Edward's extremely rare and most likely one-of-a-kind case.

Lydia sighed and chewed absently on the end of her pen, the hard plastic cap becoming soft and pliable in her warm mouth and soon it was squished flat, dented with teethmarks and beyond repair. When she realised what she'd done, she pulled the spitty, mutilated cap from her teeth and sighed. She often did this to writing utensils when in deep thought, and had ruined a number of her favourite pens this way. Ah well. iWhen will this stupid class be over with, anyway/i she wondered, glancing up at the clock impatiently, staring at the black hands as though by doing so she could will them to speed up their journey to the magic numbers that meant she would be able to go home, forget about all this crap and concentrate on what really matteredfinishing Edward.

Edward rarely came down from his attic during the daytime, but today he decided to be adventurous. He was curious about the renovations the Deetzes had made to his house since they'd come, just over three months ago. The house still smelled strongly of fresh paint and wood, nothing like the familiar and comforting scent of dust and mildew that had been there, before.

He cautiously wandered into the living room, keeping a sharp eye out for Delia or Charles, who worked at home and might possibly object to his roaming freely downstairs. But, as neither of them were in sight, nor could he hear any sign of them coming from neighbouring rooms, he decided to make himself at home on the large black leather couch situated in the centre of the enormous room. Once seated, Edward glanced around at the strange decor and furnishings that now adorned what used to be his creator's cookie-making room. What had happened to that machine? Edward sighed. They'd probably just trashed it, along with everything else they hadn't liked or found useful.

He'd known this was going to happen, so why had he even come down, only to have his mood become even gloomier than before? He hadn't wanted to get depressed, but what could he do? He couldn't just sit up there and rot forever, not when there were so many interesting things to look at, downstairs. He had to admit that, though much of Delia's art frightened him, it was still very intriguing and unique. After a moment of careful contemplation, he decided that he liked it, that it rather reminded him of himself. There was nothing to be afraid of, it was just a little different than your average clay pot.

Edward pulled his eyes away from a particularly grotesque sculpture and faced straight ahead. What he saw startled him, and he just barely avoided punching a hole in the couch. It was his reflection, in the glass face of a gigantic black box, with all sorts of buttons and wires coming out of it, connecting it to a series of smaller black boxes which surrounded it. Ah, right. He'd seen one of these at the Boggs, all those years ago, but that one had been much smaller. It was a television set, something that played pictures and their corresponding sounds, and corrupted the minds of small children, and his own, apparently...

"Damn those TV programs," he mimicked Peg's words from so long ago as if she'd said them a mere second ago. "Damn them all to hell."

iAnd somewhere around here/i Edward thought to himself as he scanned the objects lying helter-skelter on the shiny glass surface of the coffee table, ithere must be a remote control./i

The bell had rung and biology class was over, yet Lydia still sat quite still in her chair, hunched over copies of Edward's diagrams and making notations of her own in the margins. She'd been doing it all class period, completely ignoring the lesson as she lost herself in her questions and ideas. She'd heard the bell, but there was something puzzling her, something she had to figure out before she'd be able to move so much as a single inch toward the door.

"Lydia, right?" The man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and was now standing at Lydia's side, trying to sneak a peek at the papers scattered all over her desk.

"Uh, yeah..." Lydia rarely talked to her regular teachers, let alone substitutes. They were often sort of crazy, in a bad way, and never knew quite what was going on, but this one seemed to insist on invading her personal space.

"What's that you have there? That's not classwork, is it?"

Oh my God, was this jerk actually going to try and get her into trouble? Class was over! What did he care? He was just a temp for crying out loud..."No, it's not." It's far more important than anything ever assigned in this dumb class.

"Mind if I take a look?"

She did mind. Quite a bit, but she was almost forced to lean back and out of the way as the eager man bent down to inspect the diagrams more closely.

"Interesting..." he muttered as he scanned the pages through thick framed glasses. He didn't seem very old, perhaps thirty at the most, but the glasses made him appear much older, and less attractive. Yes, that combined with the tan sweater, slicked-back hair and dorky tie, if he was going for that geeky teacher look he'd achieved it with flying colours (most of which were dull earth tones).

"Er, do -you- mind if I ask why you're so interested in my stuff?" she asked, when the man continued to scrutinize the diagrams after several more minutes than Lydia was willing to wait. It -was- time to go home, after all.

The man stood up straight, removed his glasses and rubbed them on his sweater, and Lydia could tell that he was about to announce something important.

"Oh, it's just that I'm studying human anatomy at university, currently."

University? Wasn't this guy a little old to be going to college?

"Oh," Lydia said, trying to sound even the slightest bit interested, but failing horribly.

"Yeah, I'm in my fourth year. I originally wanted to become a pediatrician, but ultimately decided that I... well, I don't really like little kids, much."

iMaybe this guy isn't so bad/i Lydia thought, picking a bit of dirt from underneath her fingernail.

"Neither do I," she responded, flatly. She might have been a little more polite if she weren't so eager to get home and work on her project. "Uhm, can I go?"

The man looked slightly stricken, like she'd just asked permission to stab a pencil through his eyeball or something, but it only lasted for a brief moment, after which he said that yes, she could go.

"But Lydia," he called after her as she was walking out the door. She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, reluctantly to face him. "If you need help with that...whatever it is your working on," he said, gesturing to the pile of loose papers in her hand, "I'd be happy to try and assist you. You looked like you were stuck on something, and, even though I'm just a substitute, it's still my job to try and help you learn."

"Thanks," Lydia replied shortly as she all but ran down the hall, hoping to escape before the strange man had a chance to hold her up, any longer. Tucking her papers into her folder, she made a mental note to never linger behind in that class, again.

Edward was astounded. He'd never really gotten much of a chance to watch TV when he was living with the Boggs', and what little he'd been able to catch had been -nothing- like this. He'd always been out doing things for other people. Trimming the hedges, cutting hair, both human and canine, or simply keeping the lonely housewives company until their husbands returned at the end of the day. He didn't really want to think about that. It had been nice while it had lasted, he supposed, but then the bad things had started to happen, he began to realise that nobody actually liked him, and that they were just using him. Nobody, except for

"Hey, Edward," Lydia said casually as she walked toward him, backpack slung over one shoulder. She was about to walk right past him and up the stairs to her room, when she realised what she was seeing.

Edward was downstairs. Edward was watching TV. Edward was watching...Jerry Springer?

"Edward?"

But it appeared as though he could not hear her, or at least that the TV was making him incapable of responding. She stood beside the couch for a few minutes, his reaction to the show forcing her to cover her mouth to surpress laughter on several occassions. When she decided that they'd both had enough, she walked directly in front of him, blocking the TV from his sight, and switched it off.

Edward's head shook once and he blinked as though he'd just been snapped out of a trance.

"Lydia?" he asked, his voice quiet and soft as usual. "Where did you come from?"

"I've been here for like, five minutes," she said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her pale face.

"Really?" Edward asked, truly amazed.

Lydia nodded. "You were hypnotized by the TV. It happens to people, all the time." But not Lydia. Lydia had learned to drown things out. Sometimes, it was the only way to survive. Her areas of expertise were her father, Delia, and annoying jerks at school, but the TV wasn't a problem, either.

"I...I..." Edward looked at the TV, then at Lydia, then back at the TV, again. "I don't get it."

"What don't you get, hon?" Lydia asked, slightly surprised at the pet name she'd inadvertently tacked on to the end of her sentence.

"Everyone was fighting and screaming. I didn't even understand what they were saying, most of the time. There were a lot of loud beeping noises, and everybody in the audience started shouting, and then two big men in black came up onto the stage, and...I don't get it."

Lydia chuckled and sat down next to Edward on the couch.

"Yeah, well...it's probably better, that way. The world can be a sick, sad place, Edward."

"I know," he said, not meaning it in any sort of disrespectful way; he was simply stating that he was aware that the world wasn't all gumdrops and lollipops.

"Of course you do. But, I think we can find something better to watch than Jerry Springer."

"Jerry who...?"

Lydia plucked the remote from Edward's lap with a smile and pressed the red button toward the top.

"Never mind."

Lydia had made sure to give Edward a wide variety of television programs to watch, starting out with a nice, friendly sitcom, and following that up with a side of cartoons. Lydia was quite surprised to see that Edward was actually laughing at them. She was used to cartoons and they were all too predictable to her. The coyote never gets that damn roadrunner, the over-amorous skunk would chase that poor cat to the ends of the earth, Bugs Bunny always steals the show, and that was just common knowledge. But to Edward, who was seeing it all for the first time, they were still fresh and funny, and she was glad that he was reacting so positively to something.

When they'd moved on to some nature program or another, Lydia's eyes were beginning to droop. She wanted to stay awake, to watch Edward's facial expressions (he'd made more of them during a single cartoon than Lydia had seen him make since they'd met), but she was so tired. School was really getting the best of her. That coupled with her lack of sleep (she often stayed up very late working on her plans to help Edward) and she was out like a light, her head on Edward's shoulder, her hand clasped loosely around the remote control.

Edward was only vaguely aware of the fact that he had Lydia's head resting on his shoulder. Part of him would have liked to pay attention to her, perhaps even to wake her up and talk to her, or maybe just watch her as she slept and enjoy how close their bodies were. But as it was, he found it impossible to do anything but stare straight ahead at the glowing television screen, his eyes glazed, his mouth slack, his scissorhands snipping absently in his lap. Soon, he forgot that Lydia was even there, at all. The show had swallowed him whole, just like the crocodile had just swallowed an unfortunate turtle.

Lydia's eyes finally fluttered open what must have been hours later. In a state of brief panic, she checked her wrist watch to be sure that she wasn't late for school.

9:45

No, she wasn't late for school, thank God. It was still Wednesday evening, but unfortunately, practically all of it was gone.

"Damn it," she cursed, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. "Edward?" she said, but got no response. "Oh, right," she said, remembering that TV turned him into a zombie. She groped at the couch cushions for the remote, and when she finally found it wedged between her cushion and Edward's, she aimed it at the TV and pressed the power button.

The screen turned suddenly dark, and so did the area around themit had been the only provider of light in the entire room.

Lydia heard Edward make a small noise in the back of his throat as he was finally released from his staring contest with the TV screen.

"Lydia?" he spoke into the darkness. She could hear the blades of his scissorhands rubbing against one another and she could tell that he was slightly afriad.

"Yes, I'm here," she responded, hoping to assure him that everything was all right.

"What happened? Did you turn it off?"

"Yeah, I had the remote."

"Oh."

Silence.

Lydia's eyes were quickly adjusting to the darkness and she could just barely make out Edward's outline about a foot to her right. She wondered how well he could see in the dark. She hadn't encountered anything addressing the subject in the inventor's notes, nor had she ever thought to ask. She suddenly felt a wave of self-conciousness rush over her, much like the one she'd felt earlier that day when Jake had stared at her through his dark glasses. But this was different. This was Edward. Edward, good. Jake, bad.

"So..." she began, unsure of what exactly she was going to say. "Did you like watching TV?"

"Yes, it was really interesting. I think I have a headache, though," he added as an afterthought.

"Yeah, TV will do that to you if you watch it for too long. And you've been watching it for...about five hours, maybe a little more."

"That's a long time, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Lydia said, sighing that so much precious time had been lost. "Especially to be watching TV."

"Well, I learned a lot. Television is very educational."

"It can be, depending on what programs you watch." But then she thought about it, and reconsidered. Edward hadn't really been exposed to much of anything and was therefore bound to get a lot out of any show, even Jerry Springer. There was so much for him to learn about modern culture, about how things worked in this day and age, about people, about himself, about everything, really. He was an open book just waiting to be written in, and Lydia was always getting her pen ready.

"I like it. It's much better than what I usually do."

Lydia decided to pry a little bit. What was the harm?

"And what exactly -do- you do up there, all day?"

"Nothing."

But that wasn't entirely true. He spent most of his time thinking. About Her, about the past, about the future, about things he'd read, about Lydia, about how to talk to her, and mostly about what to say if he ever mustered enough courage to do so.

Edward was getting much better at conversation, she noticed. He seemed to be a very fast learner. He absorbed information like a sponge absorbed water, and Lydia had already noticed the imprint that five hours of television had left on his impressionable mind. She planned to expose him to at least one hour of TV every day, and she would record his progress in a notebook. She would call it 'The Edward Files'. If none was made, she would try something else. Maybe she would read to him, or give him music to listen to. Anything to open him up, but it had to be done little by little. It would be a frustrating, painstaking process, but Lydia was confident that it would ultimately be rewarding.

"Well, Edward," she said, standing up slowly and, careful to avoid the coffee table, walked across the room to turn on the light. "I think it's time for bed, don't you?"

"Okay," he said, the sudden change in light causing him to blink his black eyes, rapidly.

"Sorry," she said, hoping that the light hadn't hurt him.

"It's all right," he said. "I just wasn't expecting it."

"I guess I should've given you a warning."

Nothing.

"Okay, come with me and I'll walk you up to bed."

Edward slowly rose from his spot on the couch and walked stiffly over to where Lydia stood, near the stairs. He was glad that she was coming with him, though he doubted she'd stay for very long. He almost asked her how long she intended to stay with him, but bit his tongue at the last minute. He was still too scared, too shy to make it seem as though he really wanted Lydia to spend time with him. Because he did, he really did...he just didn't know how to ask for it, nor did he want her to feel obligated.

"C'mon, Edward," she said as he shuffled along slowly behind her. He looked up at her and gave her a small smile, but he was lost in his own thoughts, and feeling very...what was the word...? Uncomfortable. Not physically, but emotionally. He was painfully aware of how much he liked Lydia, and how nice it felt to be around her. Even when he'd sat with his eyes glued to the TV screen, he had felt warm and safe, because deep down he knew that she was close by. He wanted to feel that way, always, but he knew that it was impossible. He nearly hated himself for not being able to say so, but he really wished she could be with him, all the time. If only he could tell her...

+ 


	8. Damn Them All to Hell

Lydia's alarm pulled her from the most pleasant dream she'd had in a long time.

Of course, it was about Edward. He was tall and handsome as ever, but in this dream he had hands. He had hands and he was touching Lydia, cupping her cheek in the palm of one hand while he stroked her lips, her earlobes, her chin with the fingertips of his other. It was so nice to feel his hands on her, and they were so warm and human. His face still possessed the same childlike innocence it always had, but now there was a loving smile where before his lips had been pursed and emotionless. It was so nice...

...and then she woke up.

"Uuuuuuuuuuungh," she groaned, reaching over and hitting the snooze button, hoping to return to that warm and happy place she'd just been so violently thrown from, even for a minute, but it was in vain. She buried her face into her pillow and frowned, deeply. Stupid school. Stupid getting up early. Stupid...everything.

"Why can't it be summer?" she whined, throwing her covers off of herself and swinging her bare legs over the side of her giant four-poster bed. It was much too big for one little girl, and the sheets nearly swallowed her whole on a nightly basis, but her parents were rich now, and she could have whatever they thought she wanted to have, and so, her bed was gigantic.

Muttering to herself, she left her room and walked the short distance down the hall to the bathroom. The walls were still a pallid grey as they had not yet been painted, but she kind of liked it, and wished that they'd just leave her area of the house the hell alone. But this was Charles and Delia she was talking about. They never left anything alone, including Edward.

Edward...

"Oh no..."

Lydia dropped her toothbrush into the sink with a clatter and ran out of the bathroom toward the harsh sound of Delia's voice. It was coming from downstairs, and it sounded angry. But then, that wasn't really anything new; Delia was -always- perturbed at best, and Lydia had learned to live with it (i.e. ignore it). It wasn't the bitching that bothered her, it was the fact that she was bitching at -him-.

"Why don't you just stay up in the attic? You never used to come downstairs, and it was working out fine, that way! So why don't you just go back on up the stairs...that's right, go!"

Lydia skidded to a stop at the summit of the stairs just in time to be nearly impaled on one of Edward's sharp appendages as he ran past her up to the attic. He was so frightened that he seemed not to have even noticed Lydia there, or the injury he'd almost caused her. She called after him, but he kept running, and soon he'd reached the very top of the stairwell and disappeared behind the wall.

Lydia could do nothing but glare at the woman at the bottom of the staircase. She was so incredibly angry at her step-mother for raising her voice at Edward that words refused to form in her mouth, though many swirled around in her heated head, all of them edged with hatred and disgust.

"You..." she finally managed to squeeze out, extending her index finger at the hateful woman in silent accusation.

Delia did not respond. She stood still at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, devoid of movement save the tapping of her foot against the cold marble floor. She waited patiently for Lydia to continue, as though she actually wanted to be scolded by someone so many years her junior. If Lydia thought Delia was some kind of masochist, before, this confirmed her suspicion.

"Why did you yell at him?"

Delia only stared at Lydia, giving no indication that she'd even heard her. Lydia was about to repeat her question, when finally, Deila removed her hands from her hips and said, "Come down here and I'll show you."

Lydia walked down the stairs slowly, almost hesitantly, afraid of what Delia was about to point out to her. She hoped it was nothing. She knew her step-mother's tendency to overreact...

Delia brought her reluctant step-daughter around to the other side of the couch and gestured to a long gash in one of the cushions.

"He ruined my 1,500 couch, that's what he did!"

Lydia raised her eyebrows. Sure, it was just a couch, and Edward's feelings were more important to her than all the furniture in the world, but the damage was substantial and not something to be sneezed at.

"And as if -that- weren't enough, look. what he did. to my sculpture!"

Delia's taloned hands grasped the two pieces of what had presumably once been whole and held them up to Lydia, who didn't even pretend to care, but did try not to laugh. Honestly, if Delia hadn't told her it was broken, she'd never have been able to tell.

"He didn't mean to...he was probably just trying to watch TV."

"Watch TV? Watch TV!" The vein in Delia's head began to throb as her voice increased in volume and pitch. "He's not even supposed to be down here!"

"He -lives- here! He can go wherever he wants!"

"I understand that he lives here, not that I agree with it," Lydia had to clench her fists to keep her hand from flying up and smacking Delia right in her red mouth, "but we live here too, and it's not safe for him to just come down and mess with whatever he pleases! Those things are dangerous, Lydia, and I have spent too much money decorating this place to have him come down and destroy it!"

Lydia was silently fuming, but she kept her mouth shut. A row like this could go on for hours, and she didn't have time for something as heated as an argument with her evil step-mother. Not now. Now, she had to go to school. But first, she would have to go up and comfort Edward.

Edward sat in the farthest corner of the attic, snipping his scissorhands in agitation. He'd been nervous about going downstairs, in the first place, but Lydia had assured him that it would be all right, and that he had every bit as much right to go downstairs as anyone else in the house. So, swallowing his misgivings and fear, he decided to try it out.

At first it went well; nobody seemed to be around. He figured it was probably too early in the day for anybody to be awake, though Lydia would be getting up for school, soon. He knew this, because he often waited just outside her door in the mornings, simply waiting for her alarm to go off at six thirty AM. Sometimes he would hear her talking to herself, or catch a glimpse of her on her way to the bathroom as he hid in the doorway of the empty guestroom and peeked out into the hallway. But today was different.

He'd walked around for a few minutes, inspecting the new decor in closer detail than he had, the day before. He didn't really have much of an opinion of it, but most of it seemed all right. It was strange to think that the room which now contained leather furniture, twisted sculptures and a slew of the latest electronics once housed his father's cookie machine and other similar inventions. The room seemed so huge and empty without it. It made Edward sad to think about the things that were lost in the renovation, so he stopped.

Finally, he decided he would sit down on the couch and watch some TV. He was just about to do so, when he heard a noise in the hallway. He'd been so frightened by it, that one of his hands slipped as he was reaching for the remote, and he accidentally sliced clean through the leather on the back of the middle couch cushion like butter, leaving a sizable gash that would surely be noticed.

Then Delia spoke, which frightened him even more. As he ran out of the living room and to the stairs, he bumped the coffee table and one of the sculptures that had been located there went tumbling to the ground, where it split in two clean halves.

And then she'd yelled at him. He hadn't been really yelled at in a very long time, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. He felt like he had no way to defend himself. Words came to mind, but somehow, he was rendered mute by the anger being directed at him, and so all he could do was run.

To make matters worse, Lydia had appeared suddenly at the top of his stairs and gotten in his way. He could have seriously hurt her. He didn't think he could bear it if he ever hurt Lydia...

Edward was brought out of his sulking by the familiar sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. He would have been afriad, but he knew those footsteps well.

"Lydia," he whispered, finding comfort in the sound of her name on his lips.

That day at school was no different from anyother. Lydia's teachers droned on about things that would supposedly help her succeed in life, handing out homework and calling on raised hands, but all Lydia could think about was Edward.

Then it was time for her advanced biology class. When she saw that Mr. a-little-too-old-looking-for-college was still "teaching" the class, Lydia groaned and took her seat toward the back of the room. She didn't know what it was about the guy; maybe it was his dull fashion sense, or the way he invaded her personal space, but she just didn't like him. She hoped he wouldn't be subbing long enough for her to even fathom the idea of giving him a chance.

After class, Lydia was sure to gather up her things, right away. She would have been one of the first out the door, but the nosy substitute, who's name, Lydia now knew, was Mr. Craven, (she'd looked up once and seen it written on the board) called her back.

At first, Lydia pretended that she hadn't heard him and kept walking, but when he called her name, again, she new that it would be extremely rude of her to just walk away. He'd never actually done anything to deserve the negative feelings she felt toward him, and so, reluctantly, she turned around and walked over to him.

"Yeah?" she asked, eyeing the clock on the wall.

"How's that little project of your's going?"

iIt's not a "little project"/i she wanted to retort. iIt's the single most important thing in my life, right now, and it's none of your business.i

"Fine," she replied, instead.

"Good, good. You know, my offer still stands," he said, running a hand through his longish dirty blond hair. "If you need any help, I'd be glad to give it...and I could use the practise."

The way that he was looking at her through those oversized tortoise shell glasses was making Lydia increasingly uncomfortable, and though she figured he was just kind of a creepy guy who meant well, she really didn't want to be near him a moment longer.

"Yeah...thanks. Um, I don't want to be late to my next class."

"Oh, of course not," Mr. Craven said, glancing behind him at the wall clock. "Last class is the most important one of the day, they say."

"Yeah...sure is," Lydia replied blandly. She'd never heard anybody say that.

"See you, tomorrow," he said as she made her way hurriedly toward the door.

Tomorrow? So she would have to see him -again-? Just how long would he be temping for Mrs. Collins? She decided to voice her curiosity.

"Didn't you hear me when I told the class that she'd be out for at least another week? She's got a bad case of mononucleosis and doesn't know exactly when she'll be back."

Lydia only stared blankly at the space between his eyes. A light tuft of hair was beginning to grow there. If the guy didn't watch it, he'd soon have a uni-brow. Lydia wondered if he knew how unruly his eyebrows were, but decided not to voice this particular curiosity.

"No, I suppose you weren't listening. You were probably too busy taking notes and whatnot."

Lydia just nodded and walked out the door, leaving Mr. Craven standing against his desk and scratching the back of his head. The other students didn't seem to mind him so much. He was fairly young as far as teachers went, and not strict at all, and was therefore generally well-liked by headstrong teenagers who don't like to be told what do do. But this Lydia girl was different. She wasn't disobediant, obnoxious or disruptive, but she unnerved him, nonetheless. She simply acted...differently, almost as if she were in her own little world. He'd only gotten a glimpse of her notes and sketches, but they intriegued him to no end. What was she working on? Was this some sort of science project? Was it all theoretical, or was she applying all of it to something real and tangible? He didn't know, but he hoped that somehow he'd be able to reach her. He hoped that someday, before his time was up at the highschool, he would find out what she was working on, and maybe even get to help her with it. 


	9. In Lieu of Nine

Author's note: 

YES, it's an update, not some kind of cruel belated April Fool's joke! But I'm kind of cheating, because when I had this posted, last time under my old account, the next chapter or two were all ready included, I believe. I haven't written anything new, sorry. And don't be confused, there -is- a chapter missing. I somehow lost chapter nine and haven't been able to get it back. I don't know if anyone saved it to their hard drive, but if you did, could you please let me know and send it to me? Otherwise I'll have to re-write it.

Anyway, a summary of what happens in the long-lost chapter nine:

Halloween is getting closer, and Lydia gets an invitation to a party slipped into her locker. More harrassing from Jake, Mr. Craven gets creepier (I think...? Or maybe he's kind of cool. I really don't remember). Lydia doesn't really want to go to the party, but feels that she has to prove something to her overbearing parents, who think that her life revolves around Edward, and is therefore unhealthy. She's made a new "goth" friend, Amber Rose, and shown Edward to her, and she's all like "33 goth boi omg!" sort of thing. Still, she's pretty cool. So, not a very good summary, and certainly no compensation for the lost chapter, but it's the best I can do, for now. So, Happy Halloween, you guys!

Oh, and check it out, if you would, please. If this were a graphic novel (that would be so bloody awesome), this would probably be the cover: http/ deviation/23198475/

Remember to delete the spaces so that the link will work!


	10. The Party

Lydia ignored the cackling gargoyle head and opened the second door on the right, as instructed. The air in the basement was thick with cigarette smoke and the sounds of teenagers having fun. The music was at least a hundred decibles too loud for Lydia's taste, the decor was cheap and tacky and looked rather like it had been purchased at the Addams family's rummage sale. She didn't want to continue down the stairs, but somehow, she knew she had to.

Taking a deep breath of polluted air and swiping the gossamer veil of faux cobwebs to the side, Lydia took her first few steps down the dark staircase. "I'm sure this'll be the greatest party in the world," she muttered to herself, her quiet voice dripping sarcasm.

"A party?" Edward asked somewhat excitedly, looking up at Amber Rose with curiosity.

"Yeah," she replied, snapping her gum a little more loudly than Edward would have liked. He jumped and she apologized. "It's a Halloween thing. I think it'd be fun."

"But...but didn't Lydia ask you to stay with me?" Edward was afraid that his new friend would leave him. He supposed he wouldn't have minded so much, as she did make him a little uncomfortable with her intense eyes lined with excessive amounts of kohl, and lips as black as the night sky. But Lydia had specifically asked this favour of her. He would feel bad if Amber Rose just skipped out on her, like that...

"I never said I'd leave you, hon," she said, giving him that devilish smile that sent cold chills down the length of his spine.

"Oh..." was all he could manage as he snipped nervously at the air.

"I want you to come with me," she said, crouching down so that she was eye-level with him. He could smell her rose-scented perfume even better, now that she was closer. It was a pleasant enough scent, but something about it made him feel almost sad. Still, it was a familiar scent, and Edward had the feeling that if he were going to go to aforementioned party, he would need a certain degree of familiarity in order to feel comfortable.

"Lydia never said to stay here," she continued when Edward did not reply. "All she asked was that I stay with you and keep you company, and I fully intend to do so."

Edward supposed that was true. But a party? He'd never been to a party, before. Closest thing had been the cookout at Peg's, and that hadn't been -so- bad...

"Okay," he said, timidly, hoping he wouldn't regret to having acquiesced so willingly.

"Awesome!" she said, standing up suddenly, her black and red hair flying in all directions as she did. Edward couldn't help but notice the slight bounce in her breasts as she moved, but they -were- rather, er, large. The shirt she was wearing didn't do much to conceal this, Edward told himself to keep from feeling too embarrassed.

"But we have to get ready. Or, -I- have to get ready. You've all ready got your costume on."

"Costume?" he asked, standing up from his seat on his straw bed.

"Whatever you wanna call what you're wearing. I like it," she said, taking a small, black circular object from her purse. "I think it's hot." Edward watched as she opened the black circle, took out a smaller white circle and started patting her face with it. Her eyes never left the open black circle as she vigourously powdered her cheeks, chin, nose. Edward didn't really see the change. He realised that the black circle contained some kind of make up (something he'd become all too familiar with in his time at Peg's house) but it didn't seem to be making much of a difference. Her face still looked white and smooth and soft. Edward wished he could touch it. The powder made it all the more tempting, and it even had a pleasant scent to it.

She rummaged around in her little vinyl purse a few more times, each time pulling out a different kind of make up. She put it on with care and precision, though Edward didn't understand why--she was all ready wearing everything she was putting on. Oh well. If it made her happy...

"Done!" she said, snapping her compact shut and shoving it back into her bag. "Ready to go?"

"I don't know," Edward replied, sincerely. -He- hadn't put on any make up. Was he supposed to? Compared to Amber Rose, who was wearing enough make up to qualify for a position in the circus, he felt so bare.

"You know, you're absolutely right," she said, walking toward him, her bag clutched tightly in her black-nailed hands.

"What?" Edward asked, confused. He hadn't said anything, really. He was about to suggest that perhaps he, too should put on some make up, but...

"You would look so hot in black lipstick and eyeliner."

Edward was dumbstricken. Had she read his mind? Had he actually said what he was thinking, aloud?

"I...I guess so," he stuttered, still stunned by the fact that his new friend was seemingly telepathic.

"You totally would. Come here," she said, fishing through her purse, once again, and producing two sticks of black makeup; one short and fat, the other long and thin. "Don't be scared, I wouldn't hurt you in a million years," she said when Edward hesitated. "Just try to be as still as possible." Edward tried. "Close your eyes." Edward closed his eyes. "This'll only take a sec..." Edward waited patiently as Amber Rose touched his face and applied the make up in the appropriate places.

Lydia was miserable. It wouldn't have been so bad if the inconsiderate assholes would put out their cigarettes, or at least have the common courtesy to go outside and smoke where the air wasn't so close. The music throbbed in her temples and was really beginning to get on her nerves. It wasn't even -good- music. That at least would have been tolerable. This was just...crap.

iThis is horrible. I should really just leave/i she thought, trying to find her way over to the refreshments table through the "fog" that spilled forth from hidden machines. It did not mesh well with the cigarette smoke, and Lydia coughed when one of the fog machines went off not two inches from her face.

iNo, I gotta do this/i she told herself, not entirely sure why. Maybe it was to prove to her parents that she could have a life outside of Edward and school. Or maybe she would just get drunk and come home plastered so that her parents would never let her out of the house, again.

"Yeah," she said to herself as she ladeled some punch into her orange and black paper cup. "That sounds like a good idea."

Edward was in awe of the person he saw staring back at him in the dusty mirror. Was that really him? When he was finally able to pull himself away from the person's face, he studied its other features. Hair, clothing...scissorhands. Yes, it was definitely him. But he looked so...different.

"Wow," he breathed, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That's me?"

"Yeah," Amber Rose said, wrapping her arms around his front and leaning her head on his shoulder. He was too enthralled with his reflection to respond to this sudden contact. "I told you it'd be hot."

All he could do was smile and stare. He looked completely different from his usual self. His eyes were lined all the way around with about a half inch of kohl, with thin little designs branching off in several places to make the look "more unique and exotic. You don't wanna look like everybody else, do you?" Actually, he did...but this was close enough. His lips were black like hers. The lipstick made them look like a doll's and it covered up the scars. That made Edward happy.

"Let's go!" she said, breaking away from him and making a dash for the door. But Edward hadn't moved. He was still admiring his new look. She giggled girlishly, practically dragging him away from it and out the door.

They'd taken Amber Rose's car to the place where the party was supposed to be. Cheesy Halloween decorations littered the front lawn, and there were a line of cars parked along the street.

"This must be the place," she said, unfastening her seatbelt.

She'd made it halfway up the driveway before the realisation that Edward had not been able to un-do his seatbelt hit her.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry, Eddie," she apologized, leaning far over him to release him from his belt. Edward leaned back as far as he could but still did not totally avoid getting a face-full of cleavage. He felt his face become slightly warm, despite the chilly October air as she helped him out of the car. Why did that always happen when he got close to pretty girls? His father had never really gone into great detail as far as that subject was concerned. Oh well. He had to learn lots of things for himself. Why should this be any different?

DING DONG! Edward jumped at the sound of the doorbell as it echoed creepily from somewhere in the bushes. He'd almost composed himself, when "BUAHAHAHAHA!" the bushes began laughing maniacially. It was all Edward could do not to run away. He decided instead to hide behind Amber Rose.

"What's that?" he whispered, scissorhands clicking away as his entire body trembled.

"Oh, sweetie, that's just a boom-box hidden in the shrubs. It's playing a stupid Halloween tape. Don't be scared."

But Edward -was- scared. He'd talked to bushes lots of times, before. He especially liked to do it when he was trimming them. But this had been the first time a bush had ever spoken to -him- and it scared the living daylights out of him.

Within a few moments, they were invited in, and Edward ran past the evil foliage as fast as he could without barrelling into Amber Rose or the guy who'd opened the door for them.

"What's with him?" the guy asked, pointing a thumb toward where Edward stood huddled in the corner, his black hair falling down into his eyes, his scissorhands snipping at regular intervals every two seconds or so.

"Oh, nothing," Amber Rose said, walking toward scared-bunny!Edward and flashing her signature smile over her shoulder. "He was just scared of the bushes, right Eddie?" If Edward nodded it was unnoticable due to the shivers that shook his entire body.

"Awww," she crooned, reaching a hand out to him. "It's okay, babe. Don't worry." She patted him lightly on the head and smiled sweetly at him. "Don't get out much, do ya?"

Edward shook his head and tried to stop shaking so much. Amber Rose continued to pet his hair and whisper comforts to him, and after a few more minutes, he was calm again. He was grateful for her kindness. He wanted to thank her, but somehow could not find the words.

"Well," came a semi-familiar voice from near the door. Apparently Mr. Doorman had been standing there, the entire time. "Party's downstairs, unless of course you'd prefer a bedroom or something. I hear Mitch is renting 'em out for a small fee." He gave Amber Rose a lecherous grin and winked at Edward before disappearing down the hall, and presumably into the basement.

"What does he mean by--"

"Nothing, Eddie. Just come with me."

Now Lydia was starting to enjoy herself, if only a little bit. The music didn't seem quite so intrusive, the smoke drifted in graceful waves around the room, and everywhere she looked she could see shiny things. The party was divided as such: jocks/cheerleader-types in the far left corner, mods/emo kids/art students mingled in the middle, punks/goths lounged around on the sparse furniture in the far right corner, and the stoners hung out wherever they landed. Everyone seemed to know their correct place. It was almost as though they'd been handed little slips of paper telling them where to go as soon as they walked through the door. But, though Lydia would definitely have been pegged as a goth, she preferred to remain sans label, and sit wherever she damn well wanted.

Lydia took a deep breath for the first time since she'd come down the stairs. She unmisakably caught a whiff of another kind of smoke, in the mix. But she was on her way to a pleasant buzz, and she didn't really care who was smoking what. She was finally beginning to almost enjoy herself.

It had been difficult, but Amber Rose had successfully resisted the urge to pull the six feet of Goth girl's wet dream beside her into a closet and shag him, senseless. Usually, if there was an impulse she acted on it, right away. She was a no-nonsense kind of girl, and she usually got what (and who) she wanted without too much trouble. But Edward was different, and not just because of the jagged metal blades he had in lieu of flesh-and-bone fingers. He was different on the inside, too. Amber Rose had pursued quiet boys, before. She liked them. She liked seducing them. They let her be dominating, and after a long string of bad ass, tough guy, semi-abusive boyfriends, it was refreshing. But Amber Rose had never met anyone like Edward before in her entire life. He was obviously somewhere around her age. He had the body of a grown man, slender as it was. But he seemed to possess a child's understanding of the world around him. It was a little deeper than that. She could tell he was intelligent just by looking into his eyes. His big, black, haunting eyes. They were the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen, and they belonged to the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, respectively.

No, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't deflower this one. And besides, this was Lydia's turf. She hadn't been friends with the girl for very long, but she didn't want to betray her trust at the drop of a hat, even for someone as irresistable as Edward.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, his voice so quiet and honest.

"Because I want you," she said with a sigh. She spoke the truth to him. Why should she lie? He'd asked her a question, and he deserved a truthful answer. God, was it true.

He only looked at her, his eyes speaking volumes but his lips still as the grave. She could take no more of this. It was far too intense, and she hadn't yet had anything to drink.

"C'mon, Eddie," she said, carefully grabbing hold of his wrist. "Let's go downstairs."

Edward allowed himself to be led down the hallway and to the door that had smoke and coloured light seeping out between the cracks. The door hadn't yet been opened and all ready Edward could tell that the music was absurdly loud. He wasn't sure he would like it, but when he saw Amber Rose smile at him in that strange but not entirely unpleasant way of hers, he knew everything would be fine.

A million different smells, tastes and sounds assaulted Edward's senses the moment Amber Rose opened the basement door. Rubber, sweat, smoke, candy, beer, and roses. Edward could scarce hear himself think, but he was glad to still smell Amber Rose's perfume. It was perhaps the one familiar thing around him.

He descended the staircase slowly, getting caught in the fake spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling. He gave a few snips with his scissorhands and the strands of stretched cotten fell away. Amber Rose still held tightly to one of his wrists and he was grateful to not be entirely alone in this strange place.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the anxiety set in. The paranoia, the fear, the panic. Who were all these people? What would they think of him? Would they like him? Would they be mean to him like the others had been? Edward felt a lump rising up into his throat and had to clench his eyes tightly shut for a moment while he swallowed it. He was scared. Amber Rose by his side wasn't enough. He wanted Lydia. Was she there? She'd said she was going to a party. Was it the same one? And if she -was- there, how would he possibly be able to find her in this thick cloud of smoke and noise and flashing lights?

"Edward," Amber Rose said, shaking his wrist, slightly. "You okay?"

Edward didn't hear her right away. He thought someone might have been talking to him, but the music was so loud, and the sight around him, though blurred by smoke and fog, was fascinating. People in all different styles of dress were dancing, some slow, some fast. Some people were just sitting and talking, or smoking a cigarette. Upon closer inspection, Edward realised that some peope were even kissing each other. His gaze fell upon one such couple in the far left corner of the large room. She was dressed as a rabbit in high-heeled shoes and fishnet pantyhose, he was in a plush velvet robe and slippers. Edward barely noticed their strange clothing. He was too distracted by what they were doing. He'd never seen anything like it...

"Edward!"

His attention was jerked suddenly from the snogging couple by Amber Rose's voice raising above the noise.

"Yes?" he answered, almost afraid that he'd somehow done something wrong. He felt strange, but there was no reason why he shouldn't, given the circumstances.

"You okay?"

Edward wasn't really sure, but he nodded politely, nevertheless. He didn't want Amber Rose to think he wasn't having a good time. That was the point of parties, wasn't it? To have a good time? The couple in the corner sure looked as though they were accomplishing that goal...

"I feel a little, um, sick," he said, raising his voice above its usual level to reach her over the music and laughter.

"It's probly just the smoke. You'll get used to it. Wanna dance?"

Edward froze. His father had begun to teach him to dance...but then something had happened. An accident...Edward hadn't wanted to learn, after that. Besides, he thought as his eyes swept the small crowd dancing around them, he'd never learned how to do this kind of dancing, anyway.

Not wishing to disappoint or seem rude, he simply leaned closer to her and said, "I would like to...but I can't."

"Aw, c'mon babe. I'm sure you can. Just try. For me?"

Edward vehemently shook his head, his black hair waving in front of his face like willow tree vines in a harsh wind. "I don't want to hurt anybody."

Amber Rose made a face of realisation and nodded. "Okay, hon. I understand. It's kinda tightly-packed. Guess dancing wouldn't be a good idea." Edward nodded, slightly embarrassed. He couldn't agree more.

"Well, I really wanna dance...but let's go find a place for you to chill, first." And she took him gently but firmly by the wrist, once again, and led him off to the far right corner of the dingy room.

Lydia was on her third cup of punch. They were medium-sized cups, and Lydia was not a large girl. She was well on her way to drunkenness and rather enjoying herself. She'd been drunk a few times before, but hadn't found it particularly interesting, or even really worth doing again. But tonight was different. Tonight she needed a little help if she was to get through the evening with her sanity intact. Her eardrums and lungs were a little worse off, but at least she wouldn't end up freaking out and killing everyone with the various sharp and pointy decorations she'd taken note of, earlier.

She was basically alone, save for a young man who was passed out at her feet, but he wasn't bothering her much. He wasn't exactly capable of pleasant conversation, but that was perfectly fine as far as Lydia was concerned. In fact, as far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as pleasant conversation in a place such as this. Occassionally someone would pass her and make a comment about how she was on the "wrong side of the room," but other than that, she was enjoying peace and quiet. Or at least, no one was trying to talk to her over the insanely loud music, which was, the more she had to drink, getting better and better. She'd show those know-it-all control freaks. They should have known better than to insist she go to a late-night, teenager-infested Halloween bash. She would show them just how oblivious to everything they were. Did they not know that there would probably be sex, drugs and rock n' roll at the party, or did they just not care? Yeah...she'd show them, all right.

"Edward, huh?" the small girl in the even smaller vinyl dress and matching boots said. "That's a nice name." Her dark-painted lips parted in a toothy smile and Edward noticed that her canines seemed to be slightly larger than normal. Before he could even begin to be puzzled, another similarly dressed girl to his left spoke.

"I love your outfit," she said, batting her long, false eyelashes at him so rapidly Edward wondered if the girl didn't have something in her eye.

"Uh, thank you," he said, having recognized her comment as complimentary, but just barely. They were all so interesting. Their multi-coloured hair done up in all sorts of different styles, their slim legs covered with fishnet or striped stockings which ended in tall vinyl boots adorned with more buckles than his entire suit. They were all wearing a lot of make-up, like Amber Rose, and they all had that same unidentified quality that made Edward feel slightly uneasy, yet simultaneously good.

"Where do you shop? I've been looking for something like that for ages," piped up a third girl, sitting two cushions to the right.

"Shop?" Edward asked, confused.

Fortunately, he didn't have to answer.

"Wow, he totally makes his own clothes. That's so awesome!"

He smiled shyly and began to snip his scissorhands. He was still nervous, but at least now he was sitting, and not smack-dab in the middle of all the smoke and noise.

"Hey Edward, do you have a girlfriend?" asked the second girl with the blue pig-tailed hair and cat glasses.

"Uhm..." he hesitated, not presicely sure what the girl had meant. He thought he knew, but was still not sure how to answer. Lydia was a girl, and his friend, and he definitely felt something more than just friendship for her...but did she feel the same way?

"Not really," he answered, finally, a note of sadness in his quiet voice. "But kind of," he added as an afterthought, if only to keep the girls from throwing themselves at him. He didn't want another "Joyce" incident, especially not when he was becoming so close to Lydia. And what if she -did- have feelings for him, and would disapprove of him "going with" other girls? He was vaguely savvy to the ways of what was called "dating." Better to be safe than sorry. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Lydia's feelings.

"Holy crap, what are those?" a fourth girl with rainbow-coloured dredlocks inquired, gesturing to his hands.

"They're, uh...my hands," he said, knowing that wasn't the answer they would expect. But instead of the anticipated ridicule, he recieved only a chorus of "wow"s.

"Can I touch them?" the third girl asked, eagerly leaning forward to expose the rounded tops of her breasts. She really -was- a lot like Amber Rose...

"I suppose," he said, not seeing any harm in letting the curious have their way.

"Wow," she said, yet again, and reached out a hand to touch the cold steel of the longest blade on Edward's right hand. Edward watched in frightened surprise as a perfect stranger reached out to stroke his scissorhands. What if her hand slipped? What if he moved and accidentally cut her? He remained as still as possible as the young girl commenced her exploration of the sharp objects that served as Edward's fingers.

"That is -so- cool. Can -I- touch them?"

Edward nodded and blinked as another girl reached out to touch his hands. He couldn't say that he wasn't enjoying the attention, he was only worried that something would suddenly go horribly wrong.

Now a few of the girls were now crowded closely around him, petting the blades of his scissorhands as though they were cute and furry and not at all dangerous. It was confusing, but there were many things that Edward did not understand. This was just another thing to add to the ever-growing list.

And then it happened.

"Woooow..."

Edward gasped and yanked his hand away from the girl who'd just sliced her wrist open with one of his blades. He looked on in stupified horror as blood trickled down her bare arm in crimson rivulets. His mouth was suddenly very dry. He thought to apologize, but then he saw the look on the girl's face. It was of awe and admiration, as though she were looking at a very beautiful painting. Her eyes sparkled with a strange light and her mouth was o-shaped as she stared at her bleeding wound in wonder. He hadn't done that to her. She'd cut herself ion purpose/i.

"Holy shit," said the girl with the too-large cross around her neck. "Those must be super sharp..." She stared lustfully at Edward's scissorhands like they were precious gems or something good to eat. He suddenly wanted very much to hide them behind his back, but it was too late. She'd all ready pounced on him and begun using the tip of one of his blades to prick her finger.

Edward was too terrified to speak. What was -wrong- with these people? And then one of them asked him a question, which served as a momentary distraction from the slice-and-dice party going on in front of him.

"That where you got all those scars?" she asked, crossing her legs. She was one of the two who were not participating in this strange and highly unsettling ritual.

He nodded, his mouth still too dry to form speech.

"Yeah..." she said, lazily rolling up the sleeve of her velvet top to reveal pale skin punctuated with tiny red scrapes. "I have a little problem with that, sometimes. If I'm not depressed, I'm fine. Not like these posers, who do it just for the hell of it," she said, rolling her eyes at the three girls who seemed perfectly content to cut their arms to bloody ribbons on Edward's blades.

"Hey, screw you, Mollie. You're just as much of a poser as anyone else."

"Except for Edward. He's hardcore." Several of the other girls agreed, and poor Edward reached a new level of confusion.

"Hey Edward," the girl with the exaggerated canines said. "You want some?" She stretched her bleeding arm out to Edward, holding the gaping wound close to his face as though she wanted him to do something with it. Kiss it, maybe?

"Hey, Eddie!" Amber Rose's voice broke through the mess of sounds and Edward thought he could never be happier to see anyone who wasn't Lydia.

"Having fun?" she asked, walking over to him and his groupies, half of whom were now bleeding profusely and loving it.

Edward only looked up at her with a silent plea to remove him from the circle of freaks in which he currently sat. She took two looks at the girls surrounding him and understood, immediately.

"Time for Edward to leave, kids," she said to the girls, all of whom seemed at least slightly younger than her, now that Edward could compare them with his own eyes.

Some of them protested verbally, others merely whined, but it was obvious that all of them were sad to have their new toy taken away.

Edward stood as quickly as possible, eager to get away from the little crazies that sat lapping at each others' wrists with eager tongues. But, as insane and uncouth as they seemed, he still somehow managed to remember his manners.

"G-goodnight ladies," he stammered, bowing stiffly to the circle of vampirettes.

"Night, Edward," they seemed to say in unision. Edward delivered a quick nervous smile to them before getting as close to Amber Rose as possible without hurting her, and allowing himself to be led quickly away.

"Jesus, what the hell were they doing?" Amber Rose said, more to herself than to Edward, who was nevertheless obligated to answer, even if he didn't think he could.

"I don't know," he said, honestly, his face even whiter than before. "They seem to be...vampires..." Edward said, recalling the horrifying blood-sucking creatures of the night he'd sometimes read about.

"Pfft," Amber Rose made a noise of dismissal and rolled her eyes. "They're nothing but wanna-be's. Look at them. They're all like, twelve." Edward looked back at them and wished he hadn't.

"Anyway, sorry I left you there. How 'bout I introduce you to some older, more mature people?"

Edward nodded. "Anything but them," he said, still in a daze, which was not being at all helped by the booming bass or smoky air.

"Okay..." Amber Rose said, scanning the room for someone she knew. "Oh! Bobbi!" she exclaimed suddenly, startling an already shaken Edward. Apparently she'd found a friend to introduce him to. He hoped this would turn out to be better than what had just happened...and hopefully with less blood, too. 


	11. The Party II

Author's note: Okay, so...when I thought up the character of Mr. Craven, I wasn't -going- to make him look like Mort Rainey...it just sort of...happened. He doesn't have to look that way, to you. That's just sort of how I pictured the character as he was developed. And I love Mort so much and feel so bad for neglecting his fic that I just had to incorporate him into this one that everyone reads, some how. So the character is entirely different, they just look similar, savvy? (I can't believe I just ended a sentence with that. Jack, go away. I don't think I can fit -you- into this fic, too. Jeez. Who's next, Sheldon?) Anyway, enjoy this, the second part of the party, and Happy Halloween!

Despite the loud music and myriad of noxious odours that swirled all around her almost visibly (and in the case of the cigarette smoke, it was quite visible, to the point of near-blinding her), Lydia was drooping lower in her seat by the minute, her blackened eyelids getting heavier as the alcohol began to shut her immobile body down. Just as she was about to drift off, completely, a figure manuvered through the throng of partiers and threw itself sharply into her awareness.

"Lydia?" The voice echoed between her ears, all other noise blackened out by this semi-familiar sound penetrating her senses and pulling her back into consciousness.

She blinked her eyes at the source of the voice, trying to clear away the blurry shapes that kept her from focusing on any one thing, and searching for the face that went with the voice.

"Lydia?" the voice said again, and this time, Lydia saw him.

Its owner was tall and thin, his usually slicked-back blond hair tied back in a loose pony-tail. His slight uni-brow had either been plucked or was covered up with make up, of which he was wearing a staggering amount. The giant glasses were absent from his face, which was clean-shaven and now made even more pale by white powder and the contrast of the dark red blood that stained his lips and flowed downward from their corners in two straight lines. His dark brown eyes had been disguised by pale blue contact lenses that reduced his pupils to tiny black dots in the centre of the chilly blue iris. His usual dull, earth-toned sweater vest-and-olive-drab-corduroy combination had been replaced by a Ricean Vampire-style purple and black velvet suit, complete with a lace cravat and a big, gaudy brooch pinned at his throat. She followed the many tiny buttons down the front of his embroidered waistcoat to his tight black velvet trousers, the bottom half of which were obscured by calf-hugging black boots that made him at least two inches taller. All in all, it was a very impressive metamorphosis. It made Lydia question whether or not she was actually awake, or perhaps if the punch had been spiked with more than just alcohol.

"Mr. Craven?" she asked dubiously, her voice high and squeaky with a mixture of underuse and surprise.

The man chuckled and extended his hand.

"Usually," he said, as Lydia raised her hand to take his. "But tonight, you may call me Lestat." He grinned to reveal two perfectly pointed canine teeth and kissed her hand, gently.

Lydia was dumbfounded. She would have sworn that the exchange at hand was not taking place at all, but for the bit of fake blood residue left on her hand from Mr. Cra--er, "Lestat"'s charming greeting.

"Not to sound rude," Lydia slurred, struggling to sit up straighter, "but what the hell are you doing here?"

Mr. Craven chuckled, not at all offended by his student's confusion.

"I was invited," he replied, simply. "Mitch invited me, and I accepted. I should probably be studying for my mid-term, but I figured 'What the hell? It's not every day you get invited to pretend you're a teenager again.' And in heels, as well," he added, gesturing to his shiny height-enhancing boots.

Lydia made a noise in her throat and rolled her eyes. "I can't wait to detach myself from the title of "teenager." I don't see why anyone fortunate enough to have escaped would ever want to go back to something as dull and demeaning as that. The boots are nice though," she added in her characteristically monotonous voice, as something of an afterthought.

"When you get to be my age and you realise what's really important in life, sometimes an escape is just what you need to keep your head straight. And thank you, but they're doing bad things to my back." Lydia could definitely understand both points. "What about you? You don't really seem the type to attend such a 'dull and demeaning' event."

Lydia sighed and explained her lot to Mr. Craven, who nodded, understandingly.

"So, you got completely smashed to teach them a lesson," he commented when she'd finished telling him about her parents and how they'd all but forced her to attend, with a note of amusement in his voice.

"I'm not -completely- smashed," Lydia said, giving the man a playful half-smile. "But yeah, basically. You drink anything?"

"Only blood," he said, his eyes twinkling merrily as he grinned toothily for emphasis. Lydia couldn't help but laugh at the terribly cheesy but oddly funny reply. "The various fumes are getting to me, though. I admit to not quite being myself."

Lydia gave him a quick once over, one eyebrow cocked slightly higher than the other that spoke for her.

Mr. Craven gave a hearty laugh and Lydia was once again amazed at how completely different this man looked from the boring substitute teacher she saw five days a week standing at the head of a classroom, scribbling messily all over the blackboard and casually handing out assignments like he didn't care at all whether or not he ever saw them completed...and he probably didn't. Why ever did she dislike him? The thought was entirely obscure to her as she sat staring at this beautiful creature, tarted up as he was...but it wasn't just the elaborate disguise that made him so appealing, all of a sudden, though that definitely helped. This guy was actually -fun-. Lydia could tell, or he wouldn't even be there in the first place. She suddenly felt very badly for every harsh feeling she'd had toward him, every time she thought herself thinking, "Man, this guy is a loser." She felt horrible for misjudging him, and vowed to herself that she would give him the chance he so obviously deserved.

Amber Rose's method was quickly becoming clear to Edward: she would introduce him to a person or a group, make sure he was settled (or so she thought) and leave. Edward pondered this pattern as he stood awkwardly in front of Bobbi, a tall, dark-skinned young woman with piercing green eyes and big teeth. She lacked the appropriate size of mouth to accommodate aforementioned choppers, and would have been very beautiful, even super model-worthy if not for this small cosmetic blunder. That Edward noticed how pretty she was at all nearly shocked him beyond speech, but then that isn't saying much of our quiet friend. For all his life, he'd seen mainly peoples' inner beauty, with a few exceptions (namely, Kim, and now Lydia). But tonight he could count on five or six, well, scissor blades the number of times he'd conciously found a girl particularly attractive...and he wasn't quite sure what to make of this discovery.

As Bobbi stood gabbing away, she held two cups of punch in her hands, one for herself and one for Edward who, for obvious reasons, could not hold it, himself. She graciously allowed him sips from "his" cup, now and then, at seemingly regulated intervals of about two or three per minute. Each sip he took of the strange fluid seemed to make him feel more and more at ease, though why he couldn't say. He'd wished the vampirettes would have offered him this drink, instead of blood. He would have given just about anything to feel at ease, then.

The punch tasted good with a slight tang that was not wholly unrecognizable, but neither was it particularly unpleasant. It was remnicient of the "lemonade" he'd been given to drink by Kim's father, only much less abrasive, more easily swallowed, and just plain yummier. He had no idea that the fruity concoction consisted of Hawaiian Punch, Sprite, and, most importantly, Skyy Vodka, nor did he realise that with every sip he took, he was becoming more and more intoxicated.

He was fully aware, however, that he felt warm and fuzzy all of a sudden, like he was gradually being enveloped in an invisible comfort blanket. Suddenly, he actually felt like he could -talk- to Bobbi, rather than just stare blankly at her eyes, her mouth...her chest.

"So, Edward, where on -Earth- did you find that awesome outfit?"

"I didn't find it," Edward replied earnestly, taking another sip of punch as it was offered. "My father made it for me a long time ago."

"Wow," she breathed, and Edward was certain he'd never before experienced such a superfluous usage of one word in a single evening. He smiled in reply and waited for her to ask the next question, as she was most certainly bursting with them. Everyone seemed to be, and in most cases Edward didn't mind. But what she asked next not only threw him off-guard, but made him uncomfortable, even through the warm refuge of his imaginary blanket.

"I think guys in lots of black leather are sexy," she said, her eyes becoming somehow darker and more captivating. Her voice seemed to have suddenly lowered at least an octave and her red lips were pulled into a seductive half-smile. "Wanna go screw?"

Edward blinked twice and snipped his scissorhands, nervously.

"Excuse me?"

"You know...have sex with me? You want to?"

Oh, Edward had known what she meant before she'd been so kind as to specify. He was picking up quickly on modern slang, and he knew that "screw" was a phrase often synonymous with the act of having sexual intercourse, depending on the context. But the main clue that had tipped him off to the tenor of her inquiry had been not only her use of the word "sexy," but the manner in which she was suddenly behaving. Dulcet and seductive. Strange...unnerving...scary.

"Um..."

How should he respond to such a question? Until tonight, no one had seemed to have any sort of sexual interest in him, other than Amber Rose's brief assesment of him and his outfit upon their first meeting; "He's hot." The idea was entirely new to him, and he wasn't entirely certain of his opinion on the subject.

Would it be rude to answer with a flat-out "no"? She was obviously very interested in the idea, and would probably disappointed, possibly even offended if he declined her strange but nevertheless generous invitation. Edward had read that it was a great honor to be invited into a pretty girl's bed, but he'd never really read anywhere how to respond to said invitation. He would have to act upon rudimentary instinct, basic programming...he was not at all confident in his ability to do so. The idea of sex, and even the ability to fathom it without sufficient exposure to example was, in fact, too far advanced for his robotic brain to comprehend, nevermind to endorse.

The fact of the matter was that, no, he didn't want to. He didn't think he could, not now, and possibly not ever. Besides, he was sure Lydia would disapprove...

"I'm sorry," he replied, shakily, trying to convince himself that the answer he was about to supply was the best one possible. "I can't."

"Oh," Bobbi said, obviously disappointed. Edward felt terrible, but didn't know what to do. Luckily, he didn't really have to do anything, as she immediately began to speak again. "You have a girlfriend. I understand. Hot guy like you...of course you have a girlfriend. Just thought I'd ask, you know? Couldn't hurt." She gave him a smile and another drink of punch and that was that. As soon as his black lips had left their mark on the rim of the cup, she began to rattle off another string of unusual questions, and Edward felt a lot better. He'd seemed to have done the right thing, and that was always a good feeling to have.

Lydia was enjoying herself for the first time since she arrived. -Really- enjoying herself, not just sitting back with a drink or two and tolerating the situation. She was actually. having. fun.

Mr. Craven, whose first name turned out to be Thom, (as she'd found out at the beginning of their long and pleasant converstation--Thomas E., to be specific) was, for lack of a better description, really freaking cool. He wasn't the geek Lydia had first perceived him to be, though he admitted to being a D&D fanatic in his younger years, and he'd admitted to her, slightly regrettably, that his middle initial stood for Eugene. He was just a normal guy with a normal college life and normal taste in clothing...for a seventy year old, or so Lydia thought (his current costume of course being exempt). He was well read and liked many of the same authors as Lydia, Poe included. She was extremely glad that he'd decided to show up, and she told him so over yet another cup of punch.

"I rather am, as well," he replied honestly, taking a handful of gummy worms from a small plastic cauldron on the snack table and placing it onto his plate.

"Isn't it kinda hard to eat with those things in?" Lydia asked, gesturing to his fanged mouth.

"Huh? Oh, no, not really," he said, forgetting at first that he was even wearing the pointed caps. "It was a bit tricky when I first started wearing them, but I've mastered it. Besides, I like to swallow these things, whole," he said, plucking a red-and-yellow worm from his plate. He then dangled it over his mouth, dropped it inside and gulped it down loudly for emphasis. Lydia made a face and bit into an Oreo with orange filling.

"So," Thom began after their munchies had been collected, "Care to dance?"

Lydia nearly choked on an M&M.

"Dance? But...we just got our refreshments."

"It's okay, we can just set them down on that unoccupied corner of the table. No one'll eat 'em. You know how cootie-paranoid teenagers are."

"Yeah, but...er..." Lydia was trying to tell him that she didn't dance without hurting his feelings or sounding like a complete idiot. "My foot hurts," was all she managed to blurt out.

"Pfft," Thom scoffed, obviously not buying it. "C'mon, you can do it."

Lydia shook her head. She'd never danced with anyone before. In fact, she'd never really danced at all, except for when she'd gotten good grades back at Miss Shannon's...she wasn't accustomed to dancing on solid ground, especially not with so many other people around.

"Please?" he implored, extending an elegant hand in her direction, his eyebrows knitted, his bloody lips pouting slightly.

Lydia sighed and set her plate down in a display of defeat. "Fine," she said, rolling her eyes as she allowed herself to be whisked away into the swarm of bouncing teenaged bodies, hoping she wouldn't regret it.

Edward's audience had multiplied by two, and the name of the other girl was Allison. She wasn't as pretty as Bobbi, though she was not by any means unattractive. Her true hair colour was concealed beneath a mop of neon green hair and a pointed black witch's hat. Her dress was short and black and her thin legs were covered in green and black striped stockings. She seemed to share Bobbi's fascination with Edward's strange style of dress, interesting "hands", and did not seem to be totally adverse to the idea of sexing him up.

But the comfort blanket aquired from the mysterious drink had not been penetrated, Bobbi's proposition notwithstanding, and for this Edward was most grateful. Though he could not always understand exactly what he was being asked, he made an effort to answer each question to the best of his ability. The conversation was pleasant enough, and he was quite pleased with himself for being such an active part of it. If only Lydia could see him, now, he thought.

Allison and Bobbi seemed to be partial to conversing amongst themselves, in front of Edward, as though he were not even there, and then, when their next inquiry had been privately discussed to the maximum, they decided to present it to Edward, then wait for it with greedy eyes.

The current topic of discussion was something called "bondage". Apparently his suit fit under the category, and "really turned them on."

As if he weren't all ready lost enough, Allison then took the opportunity to ask Edward whether he was a "dom" or a "sub."

"Uh..." came his hollow reply as he blinked and snipped and wondered what on Earth they were talking about. Now he was really beginning to feel quite funny. His head seemed lighter, the room seemed to spin more, though he had been standing perfectly still for the past half hour or so. His knees were becoming wobbly, and every so often, for seemingly no reason what-so-ever, he felt oddly compelled to suddenly burst out laughing. An odd feeling, indeed. He didn't know well enough to blame it on the supposedly innocent sips of drink he kept taking. All he knew was that he felt strange, and he was having more trouble thinking of answers than usual.

"Oh, you're not sure," Bobbi replied when Edward did not. "That's cool, I'm pretty versatile, myself." She smiled sweetly and Edward smiled back, though how sweet his smile was, he couldn't say, for he was having difficulty controlling the muscles in his face, and was able to produce nothing more than a queer half-grin.

"Hey, listen," Allison said, stepping closer to Edward and lightly grabbing hold of one of the buckles on his chest. "Me and Bobbi have a little thing going on, Sunday. You wanna come?"

"Is it a party?" he asked, his words slightly slurred.

Allison looked at Bobbi with a mischevious grin, then turned back to Edward.

"...you might say that..."

A slow dance. Who would have thought there would be a slow dance at a hip-and-happenin' Halloween party? Certainly not Lydia, who'd been having a pretty good time dancing with her substitute teacher at a comfortable distance...but a slow dance? Somebody had probably requested it, damn them. Her first impulse was to run back to her chair in the corner and glue herself to the seat. But there was something about the look he gave her, that, even through the creepy ice-blue contacts, was irresistable.

Before she knew it, the gap between them had been closed and they were in each others' arms, swaying back and forth in time to the slow rhythm of the music. His breath was warm on her neck and the velvet of his coat was soft beneath her fingertips. His cologne was sweet and musky; very masculine and sensual without being overpoweringly chemical. She absently caressed the fabric on his shoulder as the song progressed, and soon her eyes were closed and safe from the harsh smoke and lights that had been assaulting them all evening. She'd never slow-danced with anyone before, -ever-. But she had to admit, this was nice. She allowed herself a small sigh of contentment, not thinking at all about anything but how nice his soft arms felt around her, his chin resting in the curve between her neck and shoulder, his pleasant smell, his slim waist...it all felt so completely right.

But then her mind began to wander away from the warm comfort. It was almost as if in her intoxicated state she was forgetting about something more important. Someone. Someone who would probably be hurt if he saw her being so close to someone else.

And then a funny feeling suddenly washed over her, causing her to shiver as though cold, even when she was anything but.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head from his shoulder. She was just tall enough to see over the top of it if she stood on tip-toe. She squinted and strained so that she could see all the way to the other side of the room. There were a lot of dark shapes between her and the corner, some of the recognizable, others not. She paid no attention to whether or not the faces in the crowd were familiar...there was something more important in the corner, she just knew it. If only she were closer. If only it weren't so dark...

As though by magic, part of her wish was granted and the slow dance ended. Some of the coloured lights came back up and she could just barely see to the corner of the room. She'd not yet left Thom's arms, and he showed no sign of letting go. They seemed to be forever entwined in a mutual embrace, but Lydia had simply not let go because she hadn't really thought of it, yet. She was looking for someone, and she was not paying attention to anything else.

And then she spotted him. He was standing with his back to her, talking to two young ladies who seemed very interested in whatever he had to say. Too interested.

But wait, what was he doing, there?

No, that couldn't be him. Must just be some other tall, skinny goth guy with messy black hair and a leather body-suit. But how to explain the strange tingle that had just come over her? That only really happened when something was wrong, and if it was really -him- standing so close to those girls, then something was definitely not right.

"Excuse me," she said, suddenly detatching herself from Thom and dashing through the crowd, leaving him in the middle of the dance floor, alone and confused. But she had to find out, and in order to do so, she couldn't just stand there hugging him. She would have explained as such, had she thought to do so.

The trip through the crowd was slow and uncomfortable, as everyone had all ready begun to lose themselves in the next song. She narrowly avoided a black eye just as she was creeping out of the swarming pit of bodies.

She was close now. Close enough to discern whether or not who she'd spotted across the room was, in fact...

"Edward!"

He turned abruptly, his left hand just barely missing Allison's hat as he raised it, ready to defend himself if need be. He was more than a little jumpy, though the alcohol had done its best to put him at ease.

"Lydia?" he asked in a tone that matched hers almost perfectly. The look of worried surprise quickly morphed into one of happiness. He'd hoped she would be there, but he didn't actually think he would find her. She was there! He wasn't alone! Needless to say, he was delighted, if not a little too drunk to show it as he normally would have. He wanted to hug her, but the message stopped somewhere from his heart to his brain, and never even reached his arms.

"What...?" Lydia was at a total loss for words. She tried to put two and two together, but she'd never been particularly good at math, and due to her inebriation and sheer shock and finding Edward there, even this seemingly simple equation was impossible to solve.

She paused a moment and just looked at him. His face had been altered, not negatively, by black eyeliner and lipstick, which was very faded but still noticable. His hair had been combed down over his eyes so that it looked as though he wore a black mop on his forehead, though it was not at all unattractive. Actually, the look quite suited him, Lydia couldn't stop herself from thinking. But nevermind the make-up. What the hell was he doing here?

"Uhm..." he replied slowly, peering out at her through his ebony tangles as though he were either ashamed to answer or not exactly sure how to. Either was a possibility with him, Lydia knew.

"Amber Rose brought me," he finally answered, after a few moments of what would have been careful consideration if not for the alcohol surging within him. He didn't want Lydia to be angry with him, or with Amber Rose, though he did wish the latter would have stayed with him.

"Oh she did, did she...?" Lydia rolled her eyes and blew from her eyes a stray bit of hair that had somehow escaped the many spritzes of hair spray she'd doused her head in, earlier. "Do you know where she is?"

"...no," he replied, honestly. "But these are my new friends, Bobbi and Allison," he said, presenting them with a lopsided grin.

"I've been trying to get him to call me Alli," said the girl in the costume that looked like it was intended for a five-year-old. Something about her gave Lydia the impression that it wasn't only her tiny costume that was the size of a small child's.

"...Right," Lydia replied, an eyebrow raised. She needed to get Edward away from these freaks, and fast.

"C'mon, Edward. I have to go find Amber Rose," she said, all but yanking him away from the pair of sex kittens. "I'm never letting you out of my sight, again," she muttered under her breath as Edward allowed himself to be dragged away. Both were too pre-occupied to notice the disappointed and almost angry looks Bobbi and Allison were shooting in their direction, nor did they hear the various "Who the hell does she think she is?" and "He was so hot!"s as they made their way across the room at near-lightning speed.

Lydia couldn't believe it. How could Amber Rose do this? That she'd brought Edward to the party in the first place was bad enough, but to leave him unattended in such...unscrupulous company? Those girls were dirty and Lydia knew it. She was horrified to think what kind of questions they'd asked poor Edward, what sort of terrible, NC-17 rated things they'd told him, and she was too considerate of Edward's feelings to ask. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know.

She eventually found her, fishnet-patterned ass sticking up in the air as she bent over her latest "kill," whose face Lydia could not see from the angle at which she stood. Whatever, she didn't care if Amber Rose was busy seducing Brad-bloody-Pitt, she -needed- to talk to her. It was urgent.

"Hey," she said, pulling her so-called friend back by the shoulder. "I need to talk to you. Now."

"Hey!" came a voice from below them. It grated on Lydia's nerves and made her want to throw something at its owner. She (unfortunately) knew that voice..."What's the big idea?"

Suddenly, the face of the mystery man was revealed, and, just as she'd suspected, he was pretty much the last person Lydia wanted to see.

"Sorry, Jake," she said, not feeling any kind of remorse for taking away his toy. "I need to steal her for a second."

"Lydia!" Amber Rose exclaimed as though she'd just now noticed the other girl's presence. "Havin' fun?"

"Nevermind," she said, pulling Amber Rose out of Jake's earshot. "Why in the name of all things sacred did you bring him here?" she asked in a sharp stage whisper, pointing just off to her left where Edward stood, seemingly fascinated by the pattern of the ceiling tiles.

"I couldn't just leave him at home," she replied, frankly. "I wanted to come, so I brought him with. He's having a good time, look at him!"

Lydia did, and she was not convinced, though she did detect an odd gleam in his dark eyes, a slight variation in his posture, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"Amber Rose, you don't understand. He's completely innocent. He's not used to being around people, especially not people like -this-," she said, a hint of desperation surfacing in her voice.

"Chill, Lyds," she said, hoping the other girl wouldn't freak out on her. A freak out when you had a head full of drugs was never a good thing, and though she was coming down from her high, she still did not want to deal with any abrupt or harsh behaviour. "He's perfectly fine. He fits in! Just -look- at him," she repeated. She looked as though she were about to fall over were it not for Lydia's firm grip on her shoulder.

"Look, Amber Rose," Lydia said, starting to become privy to the fact that her friend had been doing some kind of drug as their "conversation" progressed. In sharp contrast, she felt herself becoming more sober by the second. It was as if their intoxication levels were having some sort of secret battle, and Lydia's was quickly getting beaten down by that of her friend's, not that she really had any objection. "I'm glad that you didn't just leave him back at the house. But you shouldn't have brought him here. You shouldn't have offered to watch him for me if you all ready had other plans."

"I know, I know," Amber Rose said, really beginning to feel as though she were being scolded, and not really liking it, at all. "Sorry," she said with a dismissive shrug.

Lydia sighed. Now was clearly not the time to explain Amber Rose's mistake to her. She'd just have to do it over a phone call, the next day, or at school or something. Now it was time to get Edward the hell out of there, before more scantily clad groupies latched on and sucked him dry like the little leeches they were.

"Look, whatever," she said, releasing her grip on Amber Rose's shoulder, thus robbing the girl of her support and causing her to wobble slightly. Lydia helped her back over onto Jake's lap, though she rather thought her friend would have fared better and had less regrets in the morning had Lydia simply allowed her to slump to the foor beside the refreshments. "I'll see you later."

"Hey Lydia, baby," Jake called after her.

'Don't turn around, don't turn around...' Lydia chanted to herself, but some unknown force kept her from ignoring Jake and simply walking away, as she always wanted to do whenever he had the gall to talk to her...let alone call her "baby". Ugh. So tasteless.

She turned abruptly, her black skirts swirling around her ankles, her mouth set in a thin straight line across her stern face as she waited for Jake to finish what he'd unfortunately had the nerve to start.

"You leavin' all ready? You know, I've got another knee here, needs warmin'," he said with a lecherous grin and patted his unoccupied knee. Lydia rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust. She might have known the bastard would say something like that. What a creep.

"Let's go, Edward," she said, whirling swiftly around without giving Jake the satisfaction of even the simplest answer. "We're going home."

As she swept through the crowd with Edward close in tow, she thought she may have heard someone calling her name, but Thom's voice was drowned by the noise of the party, and the anger clouding Lydia's head. 


End file.
